Dreams Torn Asunder
by Nevermore
Summary: Sequel to 'Seasons Change.' How much are Max, Logan, Zack, and Alec willing to sacrifice to preserve everything they’ve fought so hard for? My mid- to end-Season 3. (Complete)
1. Bathed In Fire

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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Author's First Note: This story is the third in a trilogy, completing what was started in my earlier stories, _Unnatural Selection_ and _Seasons Change._ It would certainly help you understand what's going on here if you read those other two first.

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Author's Second Note: Back to heavier, plot-driven story. Feel free to write long, in-depth analyses of virtually any/all elements of the story in a review. As you're about to see, I can use all the help I can get. :) This is going to be a bit dark and serious (I'm aiming for a mood something along the lines of AJBAC), not light and fluffy like many DA fics. I'm keeping the rating to PG-13 for content, but think of it as a Tim Burton PG-13, _not_ a McG or Rob Cohen PG-13. If you like light, shippery fluff (as we probably all do from time to time), let me warn you again that this may not be your cup of tea.

Also, please don't ask what the pairing in this story is going to be. I don't write stories with a pairing in mind, because each character is free to go his/her own way. I'll write what feels right to me as the author. If you like that, fine. If not, then don't read it. Just don't flame me with comments like, 'You asshole, Max should be with Logan so make it right,' or, 'I won't read this anymore if it doesn't become M/A.' One or more of the pairings you want may develop. They also may not. I can honestly say that at this point, I myself have absolutely no idea how relationships will end up. I can also say I really don't give a rat's ass. For this particular story, it's the journey, and not the destination, that I truly find interesting. (And no, it isn't hypocritical for me to say that when I've already written the Epilogue.)

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Dreams Torn Asunder

by

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Nevermore

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I – Bathed in Fire

"How's it goin'?" Max asked Alec as he walked into her makeshift office.

"McElroy is pretty much done looking over the info," he told her. "He figures it'll take at least a week to put the information together enough to present it to the public."

"So he _is _going public immediately?"

"He doesn't like it, but he'll do it," Alec told her. "He'd rather go through the normal channels, you know? I guess that would mean presenting it to one of the intelligence agencies or maybe a Senate committee. Like you told him, though, if the wrong people get wind of what he has before he can get word out, he'll probably get himself killed before he can do anything. He's gotta put it all out there with one big bang."

"It might all be too late," Max muttered in response. She saw the questioning look on Alec's face, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself for what she had to say. "Since McElroy had the government provide us with a couple of phone lines for communication, I've been getting some extremely disturbing reports."

"Such as?"

"You know the stand-off in the Middle East?"

"Of course," Alec answered glibly. "Seems every news website is carrying info on it. The UAR and the Israelis are at each other's throats again. Nothing new there."

"Well, what initial reports are saying is definitely something new," Max said with a visible shudder. She hadn't believed it at first, but now there was no denying it. The first confirmations of events were starting to come in.

"What?" Alec's expression told Max everything – he already knew. He'd seen her shudder, and he knew that meant the worst. He was just stuck in that most uncomfortable of emotional locations – the moments between knowing and comprehending. The sensation was so intense, so unforgettable, that it usually became indelibly etched in the minds of the people that had experienced it. The question, 'Where were you when Kennedy was shot?' had held a significance for an entire American generation, because everyone had felt in that moment what Alec was experiencing now. He knew the unthinkable had just occurred, but his brain was having trouble processing the information, coming up with some way of reacting. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he shuddered, too.

"They did it, didn't they?" he asked. Max could only nod. "Which side?" Max only shook her head as she walked away. "Both of them?!" he asked incredulously. "They _both_ deployed their weapons?"

"No one knows who did it first," Max finally said. "There were simply reports that people were starting to drop dead along the Jordan River. On both sides of the river. Nobody waited to see if it was an accident, if there had simply been a failure in containment somewhere. Both sides jumped to the conclusion that they'd been attacked, and they let loose with everything they had."

"I don't believe it," Alec muttered. "After everything we went through, after the friends we lost out there at Megiddo, it doesn't matter in the end. Everybody's gonna die anyway."

"I know," Max replied.

"Do you?" Alec asked skeptically. "I don't mean both armies are gonna die, Max. I mean _everyone_. Genetically engineered bio-weapons have been released not far from the Well of the Seas. The location was perfect for the Familiars; it'll be perfect for the Israelis and the Arabs, too. They just killed us all."

"Maybe," Max replied. "We might survive. Maybe humanity'll survive, too. There have been plagues before, Alec. Someone always survives. Even the Black Death, as bad as it was, only wiped out a quarter to a third of the European population."

"But the Black Plague wasn't designed with the specific purpose of killing _everyone_," Alec pointed out.

"How do we know that for sure?" Max asked. "For all we know, that was the Familiars' first attempt at The Coming, and it failed."

"I never thought of that," Alec admitted.

"Well I have," Max retorted. "I've thought of everything, Alec. And I can't believe that these bio-weapons, as bad as they are, will kill _everyone_."

"They won't," a new voice said, drawing both Alec's and Max's attention. Joshua was standing in the doorway, his form partly obscured by shadows.

"What do you mean?" Max asked. Unlike Alec, Joshua was a mystery to her. He'd been raised away from much social interaction, and his canine DNA seemed to have a far more profound effect on his behavior than any of the species' DNA in any of the X5's. The result was man whose expressions and reactions were all but unintelligible to the average human. Only the most obvious feelings were readable, and even then Max felt that some of her perceptions were only the benefit of a year's worth of friendship.

"They nuked it all," Joshua told them both, causing Max's stomach to bottom out more than it had when she'd heard about the bio-weapons.

"What do you mean?" she asked, barely noticing that her voice was little more than a whisper. "Nuked what? Who's 'they'?"

"Dunno," Joshua replied with a shrug, his inappropriate nonchalance convincing Max that he really didn't understand what was going on. _But then again, how could he?_ she asked herself. _That'd be like expecting someone from the turn of the millennium to understand what nukes can do. They just didn't have the perspective. Most of the people alive during Hiroshima and Nagasaki were already dead. And besides, those were just two lousy little A-bombs. They were nothing like the one that caused the Pulse, or the stuff that was lobbed from one side to the other in the War of '13._

"This is important, Joshua," Max said, her voice regaining some of its usual power. "How much do we know?"

"Only what's on the news," Joshua told them. Max immediately walked away, heading directly toward the computer that Dix had set up, Alec one short step behind.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Looks like nuclear war," Dix answered with the indifference of a transgenic that didn't seem at all concerned that on the other side of the world ordinaries were killing each other by the millions. Max could almost swear that Dix was enjoying the spectacle.

"Who started it?" Max asked breathlessly.

"Both sides have already denied it," Dix told her, "which is amazing, because the bombs were dropped less than an hour ago."

"How many?" Alec asked. "What kind of fallout are we looking at?"

"Well, at least one," Mole answered, joining the conversation. "The news about this just came out, guys," he told the two of them. "None of us really know any more than the two of you do."

"And what exactly do we know so far?" Max asked, wanting to make certain that she had the full story so far. _Lots of people are gonna wig out over this,_ she knew. _There's no telling how that might affect the way they also see us. Are they gonna instinctively want to oppose anything with military connections, or will they want as much security as they can get? I have to find out **now**._

"You know about the germ warfare they had going on, right?" Mole asked. Max nodded. "Well, this all started up almost right away. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't bet on the bio-weapons being much more of a threat."

"Huh?" Max asked, though she noticed a knowing nod coming from Alec. She hated it when he figured out something before her. Then it hit her.

"The heat from the blast," Mole told her.

"It'll vaporize anything down there," Max said, letting her fellow transgenics know she'd already figured it all out, too. "Sure, hundreds of thousands of people are dead, but so are the billions of bacteria and viruses that could have infected the entire species."

"Which makes one wonder why the Israelis and Arabs would deploy weapons of mass destruction that they then wiped out with something bigger and badder," Alec pointed out.

"Unless it wasn't either of them that did it," Max concluded. "After all, they _did_ both deny involvement in the nuclear deployment."

"Yeah, I guess infecting your enemies with smallpox is okay, but they'll draw the line at using nukes," Alec said sarcastically. "Look, Max, we're gonna have to wait a bit before we can come to any good conclusions. Anything else right now is just conjecture."

"I know," Max responded. "But right now I have to get on the phone. I have to call McElroy… maybe he knows more than we do. At the very least, this could all have an effect on what happens to us.

"To us?" Joshua asked, once again coming in late on the conversation.

"Yep," Alec nodded. 'Max is afraid of how people will react. When things blow up, most people tend to get scared. And the last thing we need right now is something else for the ordinaries to be scared of."

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To be continued………………………………

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Author's Endnote: Nope, I never know when to shut up. So now that the story is underway, let me know what you think. I totally listen to people's comments/criticisms/suggestions, so maybe something you do or don't like will be addressed.


	2. A House Divided

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Just a few words to explain the delay in getting the second chapter up.  First and foremost, my muse is fickle and only appears when she wants.  Thus, inspiration has been in short supply.  Second, having a job really cuts into spare writing time.  Third, I've actually been trying to get a novel started.  Fourth (and finally), there are a few minor plot problems down the road (around Chapter 10) which have made me rethink some of the earlier set-up chapters.  So, in short, updates won't be too quick, but I'll do my damnedest to make sure they're as high quality as possible.**

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II – A House Divided 

            "So?" Alec asked again, displaying, as usual, the patience of a five-year old on Christmas Eve.  Max was beginning to find it irritating, despite the fact that she was fast becoming used to her lieutenant's idiosyncrasies.

            "I'm not done yet," she told him once more.

            "An ordinary could have read the whole thing by now," Alec replied with a gesture to the pages in Max's hands.  "Twice."

            "I'm reading it very carefully," she explained.  "I want to make sure he says everything we need to have said; but he's got to do it calmly, rationally.  Especially since the world is now facing the possibility of another nuclear war in the Middle East."

            "I thought the speech was great."

            "Yep," Max agreed, finally looking up.  "So do I."  She put the pages on the battered desk in front of her and thought through the words again.  She knew McElroy's speech would be monumental, and its importance was evident in all of the preparation that had been put into it.  Because of the fear of the Familiars finding out what they were up to, they had to limit exposure of McElroy's staff to the true topic of the speech.  As far as McElroy's people were concerned, the senator planned to make public his intent to run for president.  They also knew that McElroy was going to press for clemency for the transgenics, a potentially disastrous position that could end McElroy's career, or potentially his life, in a matter of seconds.  No one other than McElroy and Max's inner circle knew that the senator would go public with most of their information regarding the Familiars.

            "So is it time to celebrate?" Alec asked.  "Am I at least allowed to smile again?"

            "No celebrations until this is all over," Max muttered in reply.

            "Have it your way," Alec retorted.  "But I expect a smile from you."  He looked at her with a mock stern face, and Max couldn't help but crack a small grin.  "See, wasn't that easy?  Didn't that make you feel better?"

            "Maybe," Max answered.  "But you'll never know."  Despite the stress that continued to gnaw at her, Max's grin grew into a toothy smile that produced a small chuckle from Alec.

            "Okay, that's enough," he reprimanded jokingly.  "God forbid anyone walk in here and come to the erroneous conclusion that you're not developing an ulcer."

            "Do you take anything seriously?" Max asked, her mirth vanishing in an instant.

            "Of course I do," Alec assured her.  "I just don't think they're most of the things _you_ take seriously.  That's what makes me the ideal person for you to talk to.  I'm never going to panic you by pointing out all the things that could still go wrong, or burden you with new things you hadn't thought of, or --"

            "-- Or run off in the middle of the night to have a few drinks and hook up with a stripper?" Max asked.  The shocked look that appeared on Alec's face brought her grin back instantly.

            "Okay, I might do that," he said cautiously, once he seemed relatively certain that she was only joking.

            "I'd prefer you didn't," Max returned, once again serious.  "But if you do, try to make sure you don't stay out too long."

            "I have a curfew?"

            "Yes, I expect you home by dawn," Max said.  "And you'd better call in advance if you think you're gonna be late."  Again the smile, despite the fact that in the back of her head she knew she was still completely overwhelmed by the situation.

            "God, you're worse than having parents," Alec griped.

            "And you're worse than most high school-aged boys," Max countered.

            "How ever did we get ourselves into this?" Alec wondered aloud.

            "Dunno," Max admitted.  "But we're gonna get out of it.  Somehow."

            "You sure?"

            "Absolutely," Max assured him, knowing that if she couldn't even convince her own right-hand man, she had no chance with anyone else.  "All we need is a little time."

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            "Sir?" Brin asked from the doorway to Zack's office.  Zack looked up from the papers spread out on the desk before him.  To most casual bystanders it would appear as if he'd simply strewn the information around haphazardly.  This impression couldn't be farther from the truth.  Zack's system of organization, as unintelligible as it was to anyone other than him, perfectly suited his needs.

            "What is it?" Zack muttered, obviously displeased with the interruption.  He once again started giving serious thought to changing the open-door policy he shared with his second-in-command.

            "I just finished looking over the mission briefing."

            "And?"

            "And I'm not sure I understand," Brin admitted.  "It seems like you want us to destroy the building."

            "I do," Zack told her.  He was disappointed with Brin's apparent unease with her orders.  _But then again, she spent half her life away from Manticore,_ he reminded himself.  _Lydecker and Renfro did a great job of brainwashing her back into the program, but the longer she spends back out here, the more she slowly begins to resemble the woman she was when her aging disorder forced her to go back._  He fought to conceal his disappointment.  Zack knew that being on the outside had allowed Brin to develop a certain inconvenient conscience.  This was something from which his other soldiers – all raised within the completely amoral world of Manticore – were mercilessly free.  He knew no one else would question his orders on their next target.

            "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Brin said.

            "Why not?" Zack wondered.

            "There're a lot of innocent people who'll be killed," Brin explained.

            "There are no innocents," Zack countered, hoping he could get Brin to understand.

            "You want us to blow up a residential high-rise," Brin said, a tinge of disgust in her voice.  "There are over three-hundred people living there.  Women.  Children.  Families."

            "Along with three Familiar priestesses," Zack pointed out.

            "So let's just assemble a strike team to go in and take out the priestesses," Brin suggested.  "Why kill hundreds of people who are completely uninvolved?"

            "Collateral damage," Zack muttered.

            "Collateral damage?" Brin asked incredulously.  "Are you serious?  This is completely unnecessary."

            "You're wrong," Zack stated evenly, locking his gaze onto his lieutenant's, searching for the slightest sign that Brin was considering betraying him because of his most recent decision.  He knew morals were incredibly inconvenient and unpredictable, and that there would be a point beyond which Brin simply would not go.  He hoped he'd not yet reached that point.  _There's still so much to be done,_ he knew, _and I need Brin to be by my side._

            "How am I wrong?" Brin asked, daring Zack to justify his orders.  He eagerly rose to the challenge, knowing that explaining himself this time would likely lead Brin to give him the benefit of the doubt next time, when the stakes would almost certainly be even higher . . . and that much harder to rationalize.

            "We know that a holding company owned by our enemies has a lease on the entire eleventh floor," Zack said.  "Our intelligence also tells us that the Familiars are using the eleventh floor as a training facility.  Just eliminating the three permanent residents isn't enough.  We have to destroy this asset, cut away at their facilities."

            "If we kill the priestesses we'll be sending a message that we know about this location," Brin countered.  "They're not going to return to a compromised safe house."

            "No, they probably won't," Zack agreed.  "And if that were the end of the story I'd be tempted to agree with your analysis of the situation.  Unfortunately, killing the priestesses will simply force our enemies to relocate somewhere else.  Next time they might set up shop next to an orphanage.  Or in a hospital.  Or in an old hangar by the airport.  Do you understand?"

            "I think so," Brin muttered.

            "An analysis of the strike you suggest could indicate that we're unwilling to involve 'innocents,' as you call them," Zack explained.  "If that's the case, our enemies might begin to surround themselves with more 'innocents' as human shields.  We have an opportunity to prevent that, right here, right now.  Sure, a few hundred people will die.  Women, children, families.  But we'll send a message to our enemies that locating their facilities around neutral parties is not a deterrent.  We have to convince the Familiars that we see anyone used as a human shield to be no better than a collaborator.  A few hundred dead now might mean a few thousand spared later."

            "I don't know if I can agree with that," Brin said in a whisper.

            "You don't have to," Zack responded.  "You only have to obey your orders.  You only have to trust that I'm right, that in the long run this is for the best."

            "And if I can't do that?"

            "Then tell me now," Zack said simply.  "If you can't do this, I'll take you off the team and find you something else to do, something less morally ambiguous."

            "No, I can do it," Brin suddenly assured him.  "I don't agree with your decision, sir, but like you said – it's not for me to agree, it's for me to do.  All we have is discipline.  You can trust me not to disobey your orders."

            "Good," Zack replied, suppressing the urge to thank his lieutenant, reminding himself that it wasn't appropriate to thank her.  _She's a soldier,_ he told himself.  _She's required to follow her orders, whether she likes them or not._

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            "General Kilroy," a woman's voice said from the other end of the line.

            "It's just Kilroy," Logan corrected immediately.  "Who is this?"

            "My name's Tia," the woman answered.  "Set asked me to call in with some relevant intel."

            "Where exactly is he?" Logan asked.  "Have you heard from him?  Is he okay?"  His lieutenant had been gone for days with no explanation.  At first Logan had simply assumed that Set was temporarily out of reach as he got in touch with one of his mysterious contacts.  As twenty-four hours grew into forty-eight, and then seventy-two, and finally ninety-six, Logan had permitted himself to grow concerned.  Even Syl had been unable to imagine why Set would ever be so long overdue in reporting in without an excuse.

            "Set is currently unable to communicate with you," Tia reported.  "He expects to be out of touch for several more days, but he wanted me to say he's completely safe."

            "I find that hard to believe," Logan muttered, suspecting that Set had gone on one of his little side missions.  Logan knew that Set had undertaken several jobs that he never spoke about, and these covert activities made Logan suspicious of Set's motives.  In the end, though, he found himself trusting Set by default.  There was simply no one else with Set's contacts and experience.  Not even Syl was able to fill the Slinger's crucial niche.

            "Set asked me to tell you that Little Miss Muffet is still eating her curds and whey," Tia said hesitantly.  "I hope that's some kind of prearranged code, because if it isn't, I think Set might have gone insane."  That made Logan smile.  No matter how much time they'd spent at Manticore, it seemed every single one of the transgenics had that same wry, sarcastic sense of humor.

            "Yes, it's a code," Logan assured his caller.  _So he's probably okay,_ Logan concluded.  "Is that all?"

            "Yes, sir," Tia answered, immediately hanging up.  Logan was left alone to ponder the situation.

            _It's all starting to spin out of control,_ he thought, knowing the situation would only get worse.  _McElroy's about to make his damned speech, bio-genetic and nuclear warfare has erupted in the Middle East, and the Familiars are likely still on the warpath.  And of course, the transgenics are unable to do much of anything, since they're all divided.  Zack's off on his own, waging a bloody, destructive war against the Familiars; I'm out here with Syl, one minute depicting the transgenics as peaceful, and the next minute sending out strike teams of them; and Max has a huge number of her people under siege in Terminal City, counting on a politician with undetermined motivations to get her out of the jam.  _Logan's reverie was suddenly interrupted by a new thought.

            _And what the hell am I doing with Syl, anyway?_ he wondered for the umpteenth time.  His jaw literally dropped when he realized he was preoccupied with his personal life when he should have been concentrating on the serious problems that confronted him as Kilroy and Eyes Only.

            _This is crazy,_ he told himself.  _I can't keep doing this.  I have to get my head screwed on straight if I'm gonna solve any of these problems._  At that moment, he heard the front door close, letting him know that Syl had returned from her quick trip to the corner grocery store.

            "They were out of buttermilk," she called out.  "Not that that should be surprising, given the fact that we're living through an economic depression and all.  I guess we can't have any biscuits with the sausage gravy tomorrow morning."

            Logan strode out to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to watch Syl as she methodically placed the groceries into their proper places in the refrigerator and cabinets.  It seemed to him that she was completely at home in his penthouse, that she'd been there for years.  _But it's only been about a month,_ he reminded himself.  _And don't you start falling for her, Logan Cale._

            "Hey," she said with a smile.  "Did ya hear me?"

            "Yeah, I heard you," he muttered.  "No buttermilk."

            "They had everything else, though," she told him.  "Even the cardamom seeds, as much sense as that makes.  Don't know what you need them for."

            "Chicken tika masala," Logan told her, though he guessed she'd have no idea what he was saying.

            "Huh?"

            "It's an Indian dish," he explained.  "I think you'll like it."

            "If you say so," she replied.  "So any word from Set?"

            "He had someone check in for him," Logan told her.  "A woman named Tia."

            "Tiamet?" Syl asked, her face suddenly going pale.

            "Dunno," Logan admitted.  "She just said her name was Tia.  Is there a problem?"

            "Umm . . . no."  Logan could tell that Syl was incredibly upset just at the mention of Tia's name, though he couldn't guess why.  Part of him wanted to ask, but he felt reasonably certain that it was a personal matter, and a voice in the back of his head screamed at him to make sure he didn't have any personal conversations with Syl.  _You have no business going there,_ he told himself.  _She's your lieutenant.  She's not a friend . . . or a girlfriend . . . or even a lover.  She's one of your soldiers.  Don't ever forget it.  You can't let yourself develop any relationships that will make it harder for you to do what you have to.  And the time has almost come . . ._

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            "You're all done," Dix told Joshua as he stepped back to appraise his work.

            "You sure?"

            "Check it out," Dix answered, holding up a mirror which he used to show Joshua the tattoo that had just been inked onto the back of his neck.  "What do you think?" Dix asked.  "It's all zeros, just like you asked for.  Means you're the first of us."

            "Cool," Joshua muttered.  He was suddenly struck by the fear that Max wouldn't approve of his decision to get a tattoo like all the others.  _But what difference does it make?_ he wondered silently.  _Like there's any chance I would be able to go unnoticed as a transgenic but for the tattoo?_  He almost chuckled at the thought as he stood up.  "I'm more like the rest of you," he said, gazing at his fellow 'freaks.'  That's what everyone thought of the more bestial transgenics; he knew that.  But the same animalistic traits that had once made him feel like a freakish outcast now made him feel like he was a part of something.  The tattoo only helped in that area.  Now he was branded, just like the others.

            "So you wanna go scare up some grub?" Dix asked merrily.

            "Not now, have to take care of something," Joshua answered reluctantly, wishing he could actually go kill some time with his new friends.  Unfortunately, he had a job to do, and though he wanted to keep putting it off, he knew it was something that needed to be done sooner rather than later.

            "Need help?" Mole asked.

            "No," Joshua said, noticing his tone was far more curt than he'd intended.  "I'll see you guys later."  He turned on his heel and stalked off, hoping that the man he was looking for would be alone inside the complex.  He checked all of the usual places, only to come up empty.  Finally, in an act born more of desperation than of inspiration, he went up to the tower and thanked his lucky stars that he finally found Alec.  Alone.

            Joshua took a deep breath before he started to speak, steeling his will for what he was certain would be an uncomfortable conversation.  _Just say it,_ he ordered himself.

            "Hey Big Fella," Alec muttered as he looked at Joshua.  In some strange way he seemed friendly, but Joshua had no idea what it was that gave him that impression.  Alec looked exhausted, miserable, and pissed off.  Still, though, there was something behind his eyes – far behind his eyes – that actually seemed warm.  Joshua wished he couldn't see it.  It would have made his task easier.

            "Don't call me that," Joshua said evenly.  Alec's expression reshaped into a combination of shock, confusion, and offense, and Joshua knew he had to keep talking or risk losing control of the conversation.  "Only Max gets to call me that."

            "Sure . . . fine," Alec muttered, turning his back on the large transgenic, seeming to find something riveting in Seattle's skyline.

            "I know what you did," Joshua stated.  He waited for a response, but there was nothing.  No explanations.  No denials.  Not even the all-too-predictable question of what he had done.  There was only silence.  "You did something to White, didn't you?"

            "How'd you know?"  The question itself was simple, but Joshua was uncertain of how to answer.

            "Max got that phone call," he explained.  "She only told you and me where White was.  She sent out a team to verify the information, but he wasn't there.  There were clothes, a cell phone, a pistol, and White's wallet, but no White."  Joshua stopped momentarily, knowing that this was the point where Alec would point out that the obvious conclusion was that White had gotten wind of their knowing where he was, and that he left in a hurry.  Or that maybe the Familiars were toying with them, making them waste resources chasing a shadow.  But Alec pointed out neither of those possibilities, nor any other.  He simply continued to gaze at the sun setting along the horizon.

            "What did you do?"  Again, no response.  Joshua began to grow irritated, and took a half-step toward the X5 he had thought he'd known so well.  "I said, what did you do?" he snarled, grabbing Alec by the shoulder and whirling him around to face him, half-lifting the X5's feet off the floor with the strength of his grip.  Alec didn't fight back, he didn't level his characteristic challenging stare; he simply looked at Joshua for a moment, and then shifted his gaze downward.  Joshua had no idea what to make of all this.  He actually found himself wishing that the conversation had devolved into an argument, or a fight.  He couldn't figure how to proceed.  Finally, in little more than a whisper, Alec finally spoke.

            "What's she gonna do?"

            "Who?" Joshua asked, not having expected that particular question.

            "Max," Alec explained.  "What's she gonna do?"

            "Dunno," Joshua answered.  "Probably nothing.  I don't think she figured it out."

            "Huh?"

            "She thinks the Familiars were playing games, or that White got warning and eluded us at the last second," Joshua explained.  "The last thing she'd think of is that one of us went out there and took care of it on our own."

            "You figured it out," Alec pointed out.

            "I know," Joshua admitted, "but I know what to expect from you.  I was there at Manticore all those years.  Not Max.  She doesn't know.  She doesn't _want_ to know."  Silence again.  Joshua lost track of time as he and Alec just looked at each other.  All he knew for certain was that by the time Alec spoke again, night had fallen.

            "He's dead," Alec said.  "I wouldn't have let him live, Joshua.  Not after what he did.  Especially to --"

            "No," Joshua interrupted immediately.  "Don't say her name."  _Annie,_ he thought, an ache descending upon his chest, suddenly causing him to struggle for every breath.

            "I did it for her," Alec said.  "And for all of our people that White killed.  The son of a bitch deserved to die."

            "Yeah," Joshua agreed.  Again Alec seemed surprised.  "Don't look at me like that," Joshua warned him.  "I know I don't talk well, that I sound like a dullard, but I'm not an idiot," he warned.  He'd known since Max found him that he had been seen as innocent, naïve, and maybe even a little simple.  All because of the way he talked and his staggering lack of experience in social interaction.  He'd accepted it for a long while, but after having spent time around his fellow freaks he'd decided the time had come to set the record straight.  He'd start with Alec.

            "You can't do anything like that again," Joshua warned the X5.  It's not right to make those kinds of decisions on your own.  Only Max should do that."

            "I know," Alec assured him.  "But --"

            "But you thought you'd spare her the tough call?" Joshua guessed.  "Or was it that you wanted to kill White, and took it upon yourself to do it, in secret, because you knew she'd never okay the decision if she was consulted?"

            "Maybe both," Alec admitted.  "And maybe it was just because I didn't like the son of a bitch."

            "Never again," Joshua warned.

            "Never again," Alec agreed.  Minutes passed silently again.  "You're not gonna tell her?"

            "No reason to," Joshua muttered.  "I'm glad he's dead.  I would have done it myself if I had the chance.  Why would I get you in trouble for something I would have done at the drop of a hat?"

            "Thanks," Alec replied.

            "Don't thank me," Joshua grumbled.  "We're both wrong, you know."

            "I know."

            "Just promise me we'll never have to have this discussion again."

            "I promise," Alec said, though for just the slightest instant Joshua was certain that he'd caught sight of something in Alec's eyes.  _What was it?_ he wondered, trying to place the look.  His inexperience in the world prevented him from recognizing the expression of a condemned man headed toward the gallows.

_To be continued………………………………_


	3. A Rock and a Hard Place

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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III – A Rock and a Hard Place 

            "If you would turn on the lights?" the large man asked from the doorway where he waited patiently, obviously unwilling to engage in any of the psychological games most of Lillith's visitors were forced into.

            "Of course," Lillith replied smoothly, turning a dial on the underside of her mahogany desk, brightening the room and banishing the shadows that had been dancing at the edge of the orange light cast from her fireplace.  Her visitor then strode forward quickly, confidently, his eyes focused on Lillith as he approached, pointedly ignoring the whistling emitted from the nightingale boards.  Lillith wondered whether she should open the conversation with some small talk, but quickly decided against it.  _Trying to make chitchat would only make me seem anxious,_ she realized.  _I don't care who's visiting me – I damn well won't appear uncomfortable in my own office._

            "I suppose we should just get right down to it," the man suggested.  "You may call me Mr. Johnson.  I assume you know why I'm here."  Lillith nodded.  Mr. Johnson's visit had been inevitable after her recent decisions resulted in less than absolute success.  Her superiors were displeased, and she'd known a review would occur.  "I first need to know exactly what your role has been in recent months."

            "In regards to?" Lillith asked, trying to give herself a framework she could work with.  The last thing she wanted to do was offer more information than was required.

            "I want to know everything," Mr. Johnson told her.  Lillith fought to suppress a scowl.  _He's planning on giving me more than enough rope to hang myself with,_ she decided.

            "I suppose I should start with The Coming?"  Mr. Johnson didn't move a muscle in response, and Lillith tried not to squirm under his probing gaze.  "The Coming was not my decision," she began.  "Others besides myself determined it was time to initiate it."

            "Did you oppose them?" Mr. Johnson asked, the corners of his mouth crinkling slightly in what Lillith was certain was a sneer.

            "No," she replied.  "I agreed it was the proper time.  Prophecy had indicated as much.  Besides, there were other factors to consider."

            "The transgenics," Mr. Johnson added with an understanding nod.

            "Yes.  Sandeman and his followers had created a huge problem for us," Lillith explained, though she was certain she was saying nothing that Mr. Johnson didn't already know.  "The one called Max was Sandeman's aim all along – creating her was the goal of his research, and his success threatened everything we'd strove for centuries to create."

            "The problem was under control," Mr. Johnson muttered.  "We had White tracking the girl down.  He'd succeeded in exterminating dozens of transgenics, and eventually he would have terminated her, as well."

            "We didn't have time for him to do it eventually," Lillith countered.  "The girl knew about us.  I don't know how, but she knew about Sandeman, too.  That damned Colonel Lydecker had also been poking around.  Son of a bitch used to be Military Intelligence, Covert Ops.  He had contacts that not even our best placed moles knew about; he had access to information that we thought had been destroyed decades ago."

            "So you endorsed the idea to rush ahead?"

            "Yes," Lillith confirmed once more.  "And I would do it again.  It was the right decision."

            "Obviously it was not," Mr. Johnson growled.  "The Coming was averted.  Some of our best people were killed at Megiddo.  You are at least partially responsible."

            "If anything, our failure was in not acting sooner," Lillith retorted.  "Had our people been at Megiddo just one day earlier, they would have been able to act without the transgenics' interference.  Instead it was people like you, arguing for restraint rather than action, that destroyed an opportunity to work within a favorable timeframe."

            Mr. Johnson simply smiled in response, not bothering to engage in a debate over the merits of the plan to initiate The Coming.  Lillith couldn't decide whether or not she would have preferred a response.  As it was, she was already regretting her outburst.  Such careless displays of emotion and disrespect would only hurt her case.  "And The Rapture?" Mr. Johnson inquired.

            "That was my decision," Lillith admitted.

            "Do you understand that support for that action amongst your superiors was . . . scarce?"

            "Yes," Lillith replied without hesitation, unconcerned with getting unanimous support.  "But scarce does not mean nonexistent.  I had enough support to go ahead with the plan."

            "A plan that all but ended any hope we have of wiping out the ordinaries any time in the near future," Mr. Johnson remarked a little too casually.  "You've placed us between a rock and a hard place, Lillith.  We cannot take any further direct action without seriously endangering the secrecy of our people, but we likewise we cannot remain inactive for fear of the transgenics exposing what they already know."

            "That is the same position we were in before The Rapture," Lillith shot back.  "We had no other alternative.  It's too late to attempt to remain hidden.  We face two threats – the transgenics and the ordinaries.  The Rapture would certainly have killed the ordinaries, and could possibly have killed all or some of the transgenics.  Had it succeeded you would be here lauding me with praise."

            "Perhaps," Mr. Johnson replied.  "But the fact remains that The Rapture failed.  The Venetian Contingency – centuries in the making – was our best backup plan.  You wasted it."

            Lillith remained silent as she leaned back in her chair, trying to appear far more confident than she actually was.  She was on extremely thin ice, and she knew it.  A wrong word now could get her killed, so she instead waited for her guest to add something new to the conversation.

            "And what of the Caine woman?"

            "Our intelligence indicates that she was captured," Lillith reported.

            "By the transgenics," Mr. Johnson spat.  "That woman was our best bio-geneticist.  She has information on all of our programs.  God only knows how much she's given up to her captors.  Can you explain to me what possessed you to keep her stationed on Crab Island without a sizable security detail?"

            "My superiors – your peers – had insisted that the location was secure," Lillith retorted caustically.  "Don't think for a moment that you'll lay that failure at my door.  Had _anyone_ even indicated that there was the slightest possibility of a security breach, I would likely have brought Dr. Caine back to the mainland.  I wouldn't even have taken a chance on securing the island."

            "Perhaps you're right," Mr. Johnson mused, shocking Lillith with his sudden reconsideration of the situation.  "As you say, there was no indication that our facility on the island had been discovered.  And I don't know that it's entirely fair to blame you for the failure of The Rapture."

            "So why are you here?" Lillith demanded, not waiting for Mr. Johnson to reverse his line of thought again.  She planned to immediately place him on the defensive.

            "A scapegoat is required," Mr. Johnson answered simply.  "Millennia of planning has been wasted; the fanatical beliefs of our people have been called into question.  Surely you can see how that could pose some problems."

            "Finding a scapegoat will only provide spin control," Lillith commented.  "It will help put our people's minds at ease, but it will do nothing to address the very real threat we're facing.  We must fix the problem, not the blame."

            "I agree, of course," Mr. Johnson assured her.  "But you must know that I was sent here for the very reason that I do not like you or your methods.  I won't lie to you, Lillith – I think your decisions have been at best careless, and at worst foolhardy.  Either way, you obviously do not deserve the responsibilities that we've given to you."

            "So I'm to take the fall because an unknown party detonated nuclear weapons in the Jordan River Valley, thus vaporizing the micro-organisms with which we were going to wipe out all life on the planet?" Lillith spat.

            "Unless you can come up with a ready solution that will save our people," Mr. Johnson offered.

            "Our two major plans have been thwarted," Lillith said, thinking out loud.  "There's no ready contingency plan waiting in the wings.  The only alternative I see is to go to ground."

            "Unacceptable," Mr. Johnson said immediately.  "Going to ground will require secrecy.  We'll need to be divided into cells, so that discovery of some of us will not lead to discovery of others.  Compartmentalizing us in such a way will destroy our greatest virtue – unity of purpose.  We'll run the risk of fractionalization.  That's unacceptable."

            "You're assuming people will be looking for us," Lillith countered.

            "To do otherwise would be foolish," Mr. Johnson responded.  "The transgenics know about us.  That knowledge is the one ace they have up their sleeves.  Exposing us could lead to panic, the creation of a threat that's far greater than anything they pose.  We've already tried to wipe out humanity.  Twice.  Evidence of that will get us all killed."

            "Only if anyone believes them," Lillith purred.  "They're freaks, animals in human bodies.  No one will listen to them."

            "But they'll listen to Senator McElroy," Mr. Johnson muttered.

            "What?" Lillith gasped.  "No."

            "Our people in the Capitol have uncovered evidence that leads them to believe a senator has been slowly amassing information about us," Mr. Johnson explained.  "We don't know who, for certain, but McElroy hasn't bothered to hide the fact that he's been in contact with the transgenics.  Four hours ago we sent one of our assassins to eliminate the threat.  It turned out that the senator had a transgenic bodyguard.  The hit failed, and he has since been moved to a secure, undisclosed location.  Even worse, we've received word that he's purchased time on national television for a prime-time speech."

            "And you think the speech will be about us?"

            "Us and his plans to run for president," Mr. Johnson said.  "If he's protected by the transgenics, we may not be able to get at him.  I don't think I need to explain the danger that poses."

            "Of course not."

            "So, as I indicated, any plans to go to ground will necessitate arrangement of our people into cells."

            "Our only remaining alternatives seem to be fight and flight," Lillith muttered, amazed that their failures had been so complete as to bring them to this unfathomable place.  "Unless…" she said in a whisper, considering a new possibility.

            "Unless?"

            "We could surrender," Lillith suggested.

            "You're mad," Mr. Johnson retorted.  "We will not surrender our people, our way of life, to the ordinaries.  I'd die first."

            "And you will die if we don't take action," Lillith pointed out.

            "But surrender?" Mr. Johnson asked.  "It's inconceivable."

            "I'm not talking about an overt surrender," Lillith explained.  "What I'm suggesting is more of a strategic cutting of our losses."

            "Explain," Mr. Johnson prompted as he leaned forward in his chair.

            "The solution is simple, although it doubtless hasn't occurred to you or your associates because of our belief that none of our people are expendable."

            "I see," her guest nodded.  "We'll arrange to have certain information uncovered, information that would reveal the identities of some of our people."

            "Names and locations," Lillith agreed.  "Some of the transgenics are partaking in a rather vigorous war against us.  We should take advantage of that fact.  We could give them the information they're looking for.  We have very few cards left to play, but the greatest is the fact that no one outside of our own upper ranks knows how many of us there actually are.  We could give up hundreds of our people, enough to make it seem as if our enemies had achieved victory…"

            "But enough to retain a viable gene pool," Mr. Johnson finished for her.  "A promising idea.  Our information indicates that with one notable exception, none of the transgenics have passed on their enhanced traits to their progeny.  It's reasonable to assume that within a few generations they'll be all but extinct."

            "Leaving the ordinaries alone against us once more," Lillith commented.  "With bio-technology as advanced a it is, we could very likely recreate the effects of The Coming's bio-toxin within a few years.  As long as the ordinaries are convinced that we've been defeated, they'll stop looking for us.  We'll be left alone to continue with our plans."

            "And in less than a hundred years we would once again be able to initiate The Coming," Mr. Johnson said.  "Yes, it's an admirable plan.  I'll need to discuss this with my associates."

            "Of course," Lillith said with a satisfied grin.

            "And yes, Lillith, I will give credit where credit is due," he assured her.  "You may very well have escaped the proverbial noose with this scheme."

            "I only live to serve," Lillith replied smoothly, attempting to conceal her relief while also downplaying her own crucial role.  She doubted Mr. Johnson was one to approve of grandstanding.

_To be continued………………………………_


	4. My Fellow Americans

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: I just want to take a quick moment to thank ****Moonbeam once again for her long, insightful review.  She brought up some very good points, a major one of which I may end up addressing in a second complement story similar to _Three Hail Mary's._ (Though this second story would only be a chapter… or maybe two.  No more than two.  Okay, three, tops.  I guarantee it won't be more than three.)  More on that later if it happens.**

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IV – My Fellow Americans 

            Max turned on the television and sat back.  McElroy's image came onto the screen, looking younger and stronger than Max knew he appeared in person.  _Hollywood, Max thought with a disappointed shake of her head.  __Even politicians get serious attention to makeup and wardrobe._

            "My fellow Americans," McElroy started, already sounding presidential in addressing the nation as a whole rather than just his own constituents.  "It was once said that the young men and women that faced the Great Depression and World War II comprised this nation's greatest generation.  Inherent in that assumption was the hope that our people would never again need to face such challenges, that the future promised perpetual security and prosperity, that every generation would be better off than the ones that preceded it.  Unfortunately, that dream has not yet come to pass."  _A good start, Max decided.  McElroy was certainly a good orator._

            "America's current citizens, this generation, comprise what I feel are actually America's greatest generation.  We've faced The Pulse and a resulting economic depression of undreamt-of scale.  Unemployment, crime, and hunger plague our daily lives.  In the Middle East, the War of '13 demonstrated the tragic consequences of nuclear war.  Our allies have deserted us.  We are a third world nation.  I know these words have been whispered for years, but never spoken aloud.  Now it's time to say it, because remaining silent about the truth does not solve the problem.  The United States of America, once the world's one and only dominant superpower, is now a third world nation.

            "The story is not yet over, however.  Recognizing the problem is the first step in solving it.  We all know what this nation has been, and what it's capable of being once again.  I can remember, as a young man, seeing the look on the faces of men and women when the Cold War ended.  The United States had achieved something incredible, and I want to see that look on my countrymen's faces again.  Therefore, I am declaring my intention to run for President of the United States.

            "Our nation faces challenges greater than most men had thought possible.  I believe that first and foremost, we must once again regain control of our own streets, our cities, out towns, our borders.  As many of you know, I have been in contact with the leader of the transgenics currently barricaded within Terminal City, in Seattle.  All of us have focused on our differences with the transgenics.  We see them as creations of science, _things rather than __people, creatures our government created in some sort of twisted science experiment.  This is the wrong way of looking at them._

            "I've spoken with many transgenics.  They are as human as I am… as all of us are.  They were created by our government, and born to human surrogate mothers within our great nation's borders.  They're citizens, just like the rest of us.  They were raised to be soldiers, to oppose our enemies so that our sons and daughters would never again be placed at such high risk.  In my conversations with the transgenics, I have learned that many of them still desire to return to military service.  It's what they know; it's what they are.  They're American soldiers.

            "I am formally proposing a compromise agreement advanced by the transgenics' lead representative.  She has told me that roughly fifty percent of her people would re-enlist if given the chance.  I ask all of you this – if the transgenics are monsters, as so many people irrationally believe them to be, why would they want to serve us in our own military?  A plausible answer to that simple question is impossible to find.

            "With many of their people enlisting, the rest have asked that they be permitted to leave Terminal City in peace, to live out their lives as any other American would.  These are men and women who have something to offer a nation that needs so very much.  It would not only be wrong to continue to persecute these people, it would also be foolish not to take advantage of every asset we have."

            _Incredible, Max marveled.  __It seemed fairly convincing on paper, but with him up there on the podium, actually speaking the words with such conviction . . . it's kinda like I would have imagined Cicero, or FDR, or Churchill.  Next thing you know he'll be talking about St. Crispin's Day._

            "But as Americans, we must also be mindful of the world around us," McElroy continued.  "Though our status as a superpower might be a thing of the past, we still have interests across the globe, interests that must be defended.  We have friends to whom we have promised assistance and whom we've abandoned for far too long.  Once again, war has broken out in the Middle East.  I know many of us may be tempted to ignore this, to say that the problems of those on the other side of the world are not our problems.  We must never give in to the temptation to see things in such simple terms.  This is the 21st century, and warfare is no longer an isolated event."  Max started leafing through the pages in front of her, certain that some of the language had been altered.  It was nothing major, but she was still unnerved by the fact that the senator had changed anything at all without her consent.  They were supposed to be partners in this speech.

            "Only three days ago, soldiers and civilians of both the UAR and Israel were exposed to some kind of biological agent.  Thankfully, no one will likely ever know for certain what types of weapons were used, as nuclear detonations subsequently vaporized the biological agents.  I want every American to think about this.  What if there had been no use of nuclear weapons?  What if the plague we had all initially feared had been released had been able to spread, to destroy us all?  And what kind of after-effects will we face now that a radioactive cloud is floating across the Arabian Peninsula?

            "What if there are some whose plans were thwarted by humanity's survival, as grim as the circumstances of that survival may be?"  Max felt a lump form in her throat – McElroy was certainly deviating now, and she knew exactly where he was going with his speech.  Her head darted towards her right, where Alec was staring at the television screen in wide-eyed disbelief.  _This isn't the calm, rational exposé of the Familiars that we had all agreed upon, Max fumed silently._

            "In my capacity as Senator, I have come across a great deal of information," McElroy explained.  "Among my many duties on Capitol Hill, I was on the committee that originally created the Manticore Project, the program that resulted in the transgenics.  It was my firm belief that the program would result in super-soldiers that could be used instead of ordinary American citizens.  After all, why send in a hundred red-blooded American boys when we could instead achieve equal, perhaps greater, results with a half-dozen transgenics?  What I didn't realize in the beginning – what none of us realized – was that the creators of the program had an even greater purpose in mind.

            "My fellow senators and I were concerned with the survival of the American way of life, but the visionaries behind Manticore were concerned with the survival of humanity as a whole.  They were members of an organization, a secret society, some would even say a cult, which was devoted to the extermination of _ordinary human beings.  Manticore was created because of this cult, as a means of opposing it._

            "As shocking as it is, I've uncovered evidence that the members of this cult – who refer to themselves as Familiars – are the products of a breeding program that's been ongoing for millennia.  Just as men have bred the finest horses with each other for centuries, consistently producing generations greater than those that came before, so have the elders of this cult bred their best and brightest.  The result is a group of humans with superior strength and intelligence, veritable super-humans.

            "I also discovered a terrifying truth – this cult of super-humans is working to wipe out the rest of humanity – us ordinaries.  Within the past few weeks there have been two separate deployments of scientifically engineered bio-weapons.  Both times, the goal for these Familiars was the complete eradication of humanity.  They've made certain that they're immune, and thus they are free to release whatever germs they wish.  Both times they failed.  While I cannot speak as to the circumstances of the second failure, which involved the use of nuclear weapons, I have learned that the transgenics successfully thwarted the first attempt.  The transgenics succeeded in their role as foil to this cult.  They opposed them in battle, losing some of their best people, so that ordinaries would survive.

            "And let me be clear – the transgenics did not have to do this.  They were engineered to oppose this cult.  Not only are they physically and intellectually on par with humanity's greatest enemies, they were also given the same immunities to the toxin the Familiars attempted to use.  The transgenics could have sat back and waited for this plague to run its course, to make certain that humanity was destroyed.  They then could have fought their own war against the cult, with survival and a world for themselves as the prize.  Instead, despite our paranoia and persecution of their very existence, they did what they believed was right.  My fellow Americans, we are all alive today because of the sacrifice of the transgenics.  Is it really so much, then, to allow them to leave Terminal City in peace?  Is it out of line for them to ask for the same rights and privileges granted to all other citizens?

            "Let me be clear – the transgenics are not the monsters we believe them to be.  There are monsters in the world, but as terrifying as it is, these monsters cannot be identified with the naked eye.  Unlike the transgenics, they do no have readily visible animalistic characteristics.  They do not have barcodes.  These Familiars – these cultists – look just like you and me.  They could be your doctor, your lawyer, your child's teacher . . . and you would never know.  Every minute of every day they plan the extermination of ordinary humans."  Max shook her head in disbelief as McElroy went on.

            "No," she muttered.  "It's not supposed to be like this."  Alec remained silent at her side, and Max could only imagine what was going through his mind.  She couldn't shake the suspicion that her lieutenant was completely fine with this newest development.

            "How can we possibly fear the transgenics?" McElroy asked his television audience.  "They were created to protect us all.  They're heroes.  Yes, they look different, but as I've explained, the real danger is the one we can't see, the one that has worked so hard to make certain it appears no different than the rest of us.

            "Even as I speak, members of my staff are transmitting my evidence to newspapers, radio stations, and television news channels across the globe.  It won't take them long to verify the facts.  And so many people will now be in possession of the truth that this cult will no longer be able to cover up their existence.  The truth is out – we all know now.

            "I have advocated for the transgenics, but let me be clear – all ordinary humans have been attacked.  Whether or not you wish to accept the transgenics' offer of assistance is only part of the matter.  We must resolve to hunt down those that look to destroy us.  Let there be no mistake – we _are at war.  This is not a war that the United States alone will fight.  This is a war that will involve all of humanity, all of us ordinaries.  The Familiars exist.  They're out there.  And now that they know we know about them, they'll feel cornered.  I cannot stress enough the danger that the world is now in.  I can only ask that you see the truth, that the transgenics are our allies.  It's what they were made for.  Accept their assistance now, before it's too late._

            "I will gladly accept the role as an intermediary between the transgenics and humanity.  Let's gather our strength of will.  It's time for America to take its place amongst the world's leaders once more; it's time for humanity to reclaim it's own world; it's time for us to forever find a friend in the transgenics.  Thank you, and good night."

_To be continued………………………………_


	5. Crossing the Rubicon

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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V – Crossing the Rubicon 

            "You son of a bitch," Max snarled as soon as the door to the well-secured hotel suite had closed.  McElroy remained silent, gazing at her indifferently.  If he was at all impressed by Max's anger, he didn't show it.  "You lied to me."

            "No I didn't," McElroy answered smoothly.  "I offered my help in exchange for yours.  Nothing has changed.  I predict that you and yours are weeks, if not days, away from freedom."

            "Because you made the Familiars out to be the worst thing this side of Satan," Max growled.  "That's not how it was supposed to be."

            "And why not?!" McElroy suddenly roared.  "Explain that to me, child!  Why . . . not?"  Max was so taken off-guard by the senator's sudden outburst of rage that she found herself completely unable to respond.  "The Familiars tried to wipe out humanity two times, Max.  Two times!" he continued.  "I know it's a little hard for you to put yourself in my place, but try.  For just once – try.  That first thing – The Coming – would have wiped out every man, woman, and child in the world.  All except for you transgenics, of course.  See, even if you failed at Megiddo, you still would have survived long enough to have the chance to defeat the Familiars in an all-out war.  We ordinaries wouldn't have even have had that much.  We all would have died and probably never known why.  Then there was that Venetian Contingency.  I don't know who nuked the Jordan River Valley, but whoever it was probably saved billions of lives.  Once again, my bet is that your people would have survived whatever plan the Familiars had for the ordinaries.  You don't know what it's like, Max.  You want to play it cool.  You want to pretend that there's no bogeyman trying to wipe out humanity.  You're lying to yourself and everyone else.  There _is a bogeyman.  The Familiars __are monsters.  Just because you would have survived doesn't make them any less dangerous.  I'm not immune to their various doomsday weapons, and neither are all but a few of my constituents.  I had information that needed to get out, and I took care of it.  Don't think I'm going to feel guilty because you didn't think the truth was sugar-coated enough."_

            "It's not a matter of sugar-coating," Max countered.

            "Yes it is," McElroy insisted before she could finish her thought.  "Two times the Familiars initiated plans that would have killed billions.  That can't be sugar-coated."

            "The speech was fine as it was, before you changed it without telling me," Max insisted.  "You made yourself into some kind of demagogue.  That doesn't help us."

            "Of course it does," McElroy shot back, his voice suddenly even and eerily calm despite the intensity that continued to glow in his eyes.  "You don't want people to be paranoid and irrational.  Fine, I can understand that.  But remaining calm does _not_ mean that they shouldn't be afraid.  And they _should be afraid, Max.  And they should probably be a little paranoid, too"_

            "You really believe that?"

            "Yes!" McElroy barked, once again raising his voice as he continued trying to sway Max's opinion.  "And let's get something straight right now.  You're probably right; I probably did sound like a demagogue.  And I'm likely going to build a huge political base because of fear – the fear that ordinaries will feel now that they know the truth.  Just don't forget that just because I may have been wrong in my methods, that doesn't mean that my message is any less right.  I'm right about the Familiars, Max.  And so are you.  They need to be stopped."

            "Not like this," Max muttered, needing to make the senator see how he'd stepped carelessly.  "You're going to start a witch-hunt.  Innocent people are going to die."

            "I know," McElroy replied, his voice suddenly weary, guilty.  "Don't you think I realized that?  I'm well aware of humanity's inherent paranoia.  But I also know about the transgenic that called herself Tinga."  Max gasped at the mention of her sister's name.  "Does that surprise you?"

            "I don't know what you mean?" Max admitted.

            "She was the only transgenic that ever passed on her traits after mating," McElroy answered.  "Do you know what that means?"

            "No."  Max knew it meant a lot of things, but she had no idea to what, specifically, the senator was referring.  Still, she had a sudden uneasy feeling in her stomach.  _There's something I haven't considered yet,_ she told herself nervously.  _There's something I overlooked, something that should have been obvious._

            "It means that your people's days are numbered," the senator told her.  "Hasn't that occurred to you?"

            Max felt a shudder shoot straight through her.  In all of her time with her people, she'd never once given any thought to their future beyond escaping the siege.  The immediate threat was so great that it never occurred to her to consider what would happen years down the road.  "I never --"

            "You never considered that, did you?" McElroy asked.  Max only shook her head in confirmation.  "How does it feel, Max?"

            "Huh?"

            "How does it feel to know that your people will be extinct in a matter of a hundred years?" McElroy asked.  Despite the cruelty of his words, McElroy's face was sad, just like his voice.  Max suddenly understood – he was facing the same situation.  If he didn't act in some way, if he didn't succeed in destroying the Familiars, then the ordinaries would face extinction just as certainly as the transgenics would.

            "You'll sacrifice as many as it takes, won't you?" Max asked.

            "Yes," McElroy nodded.  "And don't think I'm going to try to make myself seem heroic; my hypocrisy only goes so far.  The path I've chosen leads directly to hell.  I know that much.  But if the Familiars win, billions will die.  If my plans succeed to fruition, then millions will likely die.  Millions, rather than billions.  The species will live on, and that's what really matters.  I'm sure that if you were in the same position, if you could sacrifice a few dozen of your people to guarantee survival for the rest, you would do so."  Max thought about that for a long time.

            "No.  I wouldn't," she finally answered, resolve well up within her again.  "I'd find another way."

            "No you wouldn't," McElroy assured her.  "You'd make the same sacrifice I just did."

            "Don't fool yourself," Max shot back.  "I'm not that kind of person.  There's got to be another way."

            "There isn't.  At least, not anymore, that is.  If there _was another way, it's gone now, that's for sure.  The Familiars are out there, and now they've been backed into a corner.  They know we'll be gunning for them."_

            "The die is cast," Max muttered.

            "You understand completely," McElroy agreed with a grim nod.  "We're both dead.  You know that, right?"  Max nodded.  "Don't ever forget that," he told her.  "It'll free you.  It'll allow you to do what needs to be done.  Just remember that what happens to us is unimportant."  Max looked in the senator's eyes, and saw clearly that he meant every word of what he said.  He fully expected to die because of his actions, and he seemed to accept his fate as long as he achieved his goals.  Despite his betrayal, despite a decision she felt was foolhardy, Max understood what he was trying to do.  She understood McElroy's Machiavellian motivations.  It was the end, rather than the means, that motivated her ally.  _Such noble ends,_ she thought with wonder, _and such a fate…_  The senator's expression made it perfectly plain that he knew exactly the damnation he had assured himself.  It was then that Max shuddered.  _That look, she thought with growing horror.  __I've seen it before._

            "Now we have to get down to business," McElroy said, startling Max out of her reverie.  She fought to stuff her fears down inside her and concentrate on the task at hand.

            "And what, exactly, is there to discuss?" Max asked.  "The news outlets are reviewing your information while the president meets with the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Homeland Security, reviewing the same info and trying to decide if our offer is worth accepting."

            "Verification of the information I provided will be the first thing that gets resolved," the senator explained.  "Our intelligence is very thorough, due primarily to the information gathered by Lydecker and Eyes Only.  The threat will be clear, and the Joint Chiefs will espouse an immediate reaction."

            "Which would entail what, exactly?"

            "An armed response," McElroy said.  "Bear in mind that I'm not entirely familiar with the military; my expertise as a senator has always been in the intelligence community.  However, I _do know the Homeland Secretary fairly well.  Remember that he used to be a general, and then went into government work, becoming the Deputy Director of the NSA."_

            "I know," Max assured her guest.  She'd done her homework – in order to predict the decisions the government would make, it was necessary first to understand what type of men would be making those decisions.

            "He was chosen for the job of Homeland Secretary precisely because of the fact that he had expertise in both the military and intelligence arenas, not to mention numerous contacts in both of those fields," McElroy told her, letting her in on some of the finer points of Washington politics.  "Dollars to donuts he'll want to deploy the Black Omega Guard."

            "Huh?" Max asked, suddenly reaching a point where her knowledge was completely insufficient.  She'd never even heard rumors about a Black Omega Guard.

            "Black Omega was the name given to the absolutely most elite soldiers in the U.S. military.  Like the Delta Force, they were recruited from all of the other branches of the military.  But while the Deltas specialized in anti-terrorist ops, the Black Omegas were simply trained to destroy anything and everything that stood in their way; they're masters of sweep and clear operations.  Their recruitment process was intense beyond anything any soldier had ever faced before, and many of them received cybernetic implants to increase performance or compensate for the crippling injuries they often suffered during their training."

            "How come I've never heard of these guys?" Max asked.  She found it surprising that no one in Manticore had ever mentioned a program that seemed to have similar goals as the one in which she was produced.

            "You have," McElroy told her with a coy smile.  "You just didn't know them as Black Omegas.  You knew them as Manticore Special Ops."

            "Huh?"

            "The soldiers that lived at the Gillette facility – those were the Black Omegas," McElroy explained.  "At the beginning, when they weren't deployed in the field, their primary purpose was to guard the facility, to make certain that no one from the outside ever got their hands on classified intel.  Then, as your generation began to grow up, they adopted the secondary role of controlling the transgenics.  It didn't take a genius to figure out that the transgenics could be a problem as they grew up, especially as each succeeding generation proved to be stronger and smarter than the ones that came before."

            "So they were your security precaution," Max surmised.

            "Then came the Pulse," McElroy continued.  "Our strong economy went the way of the 8-track, and we found ourselves needing to do more with less.  That's when Lydecker came to us with the idea for the Black Omega Project.  Up until that point, the guards had simply been referred to as Manticore Ops, the name that you knew them by.  Lydecker proposed that the guards train alongside the transgenics.  The benefits would be twofold – first, the transgenics received the benefit of training with seasoned, elite troops, and second, the operators trained with a new generation of super-soldiers.  They were forced to take themselves to a new level in order to remain competitive with opponents that were engineered to be superior."

            "So the president has the option of using elite troops that have trained with transgenics," Max said, summing up the situation.  "So of course he'll decide to go with them instead of freeing the transgenics."

            "Of course," McElroy agreed.  "And those troops will take serious losses.  They may be the best human soldiers that have ever walked the earth, but they're still only human.  Sooner or later, the president will be forced to turn to you and your people."

            "And you figure it'll be sooner rather than later."

            "Of course," McElroy said again with a thin smile.  "The Black Omegas, as good as the are, will prove insufficient on their own.  Of course, the transgenics, as superior as they are, will likely lack the necessary experience and cunning to succeed without unnecessary losses."

            "But a combination of the two…"

            "Would be frightening," McElroy finished for his host.  "A unit with the physical capabilities of transgenics, but with the tactical ability developed by soldiers who've spent years competing against those very same transgenics, trying to milk any advantage they could find . . ."

            "It's the best of both worlds," Max concluded.

            "Yes, it is," McElroy agreed.

            "I just hope this is a good idea," Max muttered.

            "There's some risk," McElroy admitted, "but in times like these, better a mistake than a regret.  You know what I mean?"

            "Yes, I do," Max answered, though her mind was no longer on the subject of transgenic soldiers.   _I have to make one more stop before I go back to Terminal City,_ she decided.

_To be continued………………………………_


	6. Trying Not To Be 'Like That'

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Well, I think all of my pieces are finally in place.  Time to starting screwing with the characters' lives…**

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VI – Trying Not To Be 'Like That' 

            "Logan, Max is here," Syl commented from the door to his bedroom.  He looked at her suspiciously, half-thinking that it must be a joke.  Then he saw the uncertainty and apprehension on her face.  He tried to figure out what was going through her mind, and then immediately chased away his curiosity as he rose from the bed, putting aside the copy of Martin's A Game of Thrones that he'd been reading.  He feared where that line of thought would go.  _We're not like that,_ he reminded himself, just as he always did when he saw Syl.  Just like he always had with Max.  And as with Max, it was an increasingly difficult struggle to convince himself that nothing was going on.

            "I didn't hear anyone come in," Logan replied, trying to keep his response as neutral as possible.  He was afraid that expressing any reaction to Max's visit – either positive or negative – could rub Syl the wrong way.  That was the last thing he needed right now.  Syl didn't say anything more.  She just turned on her heel and continued down the hallway in the opposite direction from the living room where Logan assumed Max was waiting for him.  Surmising that Syl planned to wait out the potential storm in the guest bedroom, Logan walked toward the living room, trying to forget just how angry he and Max had been at each other the last time they'd spoke.

            _It's been over a month,_ he reminded himself.  _She might have gotten over the fact that I didn't tell her about the vaccine; she might be willing to forget some of the things I said._  He walked slowly, cautiously, into the living room, using all of his senses to try to get an idea of the mood of his guest.  _No bad vibes,_ he decided as he finally settled his gaze on her.  _My God,_ he marveled as his eyes swept over her.  _The long hair, the dark eyes . . . _ "Max!" he almost yelled out in joy, hardly aware that the voice he heard was his own.  "I wasn't expecting you."  _But I'm so glad you're here,_ he added silently, thankful that he had at least kept that much to himself.

            "I know," Max replied, smiling broadly, warmth and joy spreading across her face, lighting up her eyes in a way Logan had never seen in any other woman.  She sat back as the smile slowly receded, seeming to struggle for continued life.  Logan knew the look well – Max's emotions had gotten the better of her.  She was trying to make sense of a situation she hadn't even remotely expected.  _Which is only fair,_ Logan decided.  He hadn't expected his own excitement at seeing her again; he couldn't imagine how she could have seen it coming.

            "Can I get you anything?" he offered, already taking a few steps toward the kitchen.

            "Maybe some tea."  Max stood up and followed him into the kitchen, still smiling as she reached up into the cabinets and pulled out a couple of tea bags while Logan started boiling water.  "Is Syl gonna join us?"

            "No," Logan replied, trying to conceal any indication that just the mention of Syl's name was making him uncomfortable at the moment.  He didn't want to think about Syl while he was talking to Max.  _That would be just far too weird._  "She's gonna take a quick cat nap while you're here," he added, making up what he felt was a plausible story as he went along.  "She hardly ever sleeps – she's always on guard duty.  Figures she should take the opportunity while it's here."

            "She trust me to keep you safe while she catches some Z's?" Max asked with a dubious smile.  _She's hiding something,_ Logan decided, suddenly fearful that Max might suspect something between Syl and him.

            "Who better than the Chosen One?" Logan asked, trying to keep some mirth in his voice.  Max smiled thinly, awkwardly.  _She's still uncomfortable being seen as a Messiah,_ Logan decided.  _That's a good sign._

            "Logan, please," Max said softly, looking at him right in the eyes.  "Don't call me that, 'k?"

            "Fine," Logan answered, unable to free himself from her gaze.  It was with great surprise that he realized he didn't _want_ to free himself.  He wanted to stay in that moment for . . . _For how long?_ he asked himself.  _Just what the hell am I doing?  I haven't seen her for over a month,_ he reminded himself, _and here I am acting like some schoolboy with a crush.  I have to remember my responsibilities – the work, the war, the secrets I swore to keep from her… _ All the reasons for sending her away came rushing back, and he found himself wondering if his sacrifice was worth the pain he felt every day, the incessant longing just to see her, if only for a moment.  He tried to focus as he continued to look in her eyes, and then finally, and very noticeably, tore his gaze away.  He noticed a shocked, almost disappointed look on Max's face, but he consciously avoided thinking about it.  "So I guess you've been busy," he said, trying to find a neutral topic of conversation that could keep them both preoccupied enough to stop with the Spelling-esque drama in the kitchen.

            "Very," Max agreed, for her part suddenly appearing desperately interested in the writing on the back of the teabag wrappers she was holding.

            "So is this your first time out since…"

            "Since the night we had our little . . . discussion," Max told him.

            "Right," Logan responded, trying not to dwell on memories of the bitter argument they'd had.  The things they'd said that night had kept them apart for over a month.  It was not something he wanted to rehash in his mind.  _I can't believe I ever sent her away,_ he thought for a brief moment before he chased his feelings from his heart once again, futilely trying to convince even himself that his feelings went no further than friendship.

            "Maybe I shouldn't have come," Max suggested.  "I didn't mean to --"

            "No, I'm glad you did," Logan interrupted.  "It's good to see you again.  I've just been so busy."

            "I know," Max assured him.  "The amount of intel you've dug up, the way you speak when you give your reports . . . it's all amazing.  _You're_ amazing."

            "I'm just a guy doing his part," Logan replied humbly.  "You're the amazing one, Max.  The way you hold everything together, especially with the amount of stress you've got to be under."

            "I couldn't do it alone," Max assured him.  "Believe it or not, even Alec has been a huge help."  Just the mention of Alec's name felt like a dagger thrust into Logan's gut, but he fought to hide his reaction from his longtime friend.  He'd done his best to assure Max that he knew she'd been lying to him when she said she and Alec were an item, and Logan knew that that was, in fact, the truth.  Despite knowing that, however, he couldn't help feeling jealous.  He knew it was juvenile and irrational, but he couldn't help himself.

            "And how's Joshua doing?" Logan asked, hoping directing Max's attention away from Alec would help him maintain his illusion of indifference.

            "He's well," Max said with a nod and a smile.  "He even got a tattoo."

            "He what?"

            "He had Dix give him a tattoo," Max explained.  "It's a barcode, just like the rest of us.  I think he wanted to make a show of solidarity, though he interestingly got a barcode of all zeroes."

            "Worried about people forgetting his status as the first one?" Logan asked with a chuckle, remembering the pride with which Joshua always reminded everyone who would listen that he was Sandeman's first creation in the Manticore project.

            "Well, you know, all that canine DNA," Max lamented comically.  "He's always getting distracted by status in the pack and such stuff.  Too bad he doesn't have more feline in him – he'd worry more about ways to be left alone."

            "Is that what you want?" Logan asked suddenly, afraid that Max had been trying to imply something that he'd missed.  _Is this just a business visit?_ he wondered.  _Is she trying to make sure I don't read anything into it?_  He found himself on the verge of panic that she'd actually moved on like he'd told her to.

            "No," Max said quickly, as if reading his thoughts.  "That's not what I meant.  At least not totally.  I'll admit that once in awhile it would be nice to have a couple of days to myself, but don't think I'm looking to avoid you or anything."  She seemed to blush as soon as she'd spoken, and Logan knew she'd said more than she'd planned to.  _Now how should I respond to that?_

            "I was hoping not," he said, deciding that was a suitably non-committal answer.  _She could take that just about any number of ways._

            "I mean . . . I don't know what I mean," Max muttered, shaking her head in apparent frustration.  "Logan…"

            "Yes?"

            "Last time I was here, we both said a lot of things," Max said, once again directing her gaze on the teabags in her hand.  "I just want you to know that I didn't really mean all of it."  Logan felt a wave of relief wash over him.  He'd never expected Max to come by and apologize.  He found himself wishing for a return to the way things had always been.  _This is it!_ he thought excitedly.  _She's here.  She knows how she feels, and she's willing to act on it.  There's no virus in the way now._

            "I didn't mean it either," he assured her as he tried to remember every single word he'd said, just in case she asked him exactly what he had meant, and what he hadn't.

            "And I don't want to get into that whole conversation again, because I can't imagine how we could do that and not have another argument."

            "Okay," Logan said soothingly.  He could swear he heard the first inkling of emotion in Max's voice, and he knew that was a bad sign.  Only rarely was she ever expressive in a non-angry way, and on those few occasions she almost invariably ended up losing control because of her lack of experience with her feelings.  Logan didn't want that this time.

            "I just want to say that when you said we had responsibilities . . . well, you were right," she said, stifling the threat of a sob.  "I didn't know then just how serious that was.  I do now."  Logan could see that much in her eyes.  It seemed that the last of that carefree little girl he'd met a few years earlier had finally gone away.  Her eyes still glowed with warmth and compassion, but there was a certain grim determination that hadn't been there before.  He imagined it was like looking into the eyes of young soldiers visiting home after their first time on the front.  Max had grown up very fast.  _Too fast,_ he decided sadly.  _No one should have to go through what she has.  It isn't fair._

            "I'm sorry I got so angry," Logan said to her, trying to figure out how much more he could say.  He wanted to tell her so much, but that voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that the situation hadn't changed – they both still had jobs to do.  _I can't tell her yet,_ he decided.  "I really didn't mean to hurt you.  It's just that --"

            "I know," Max assured him.  "You don't need to say it.  You wanted to keep me safe."  Logan couldn't think of anything to say, so he just looked at Max with the most compassionate, understanding, and affectionate expression he could muster.  He tried to say with his expression what he didn't dare say aloud.  "I still don't think it was right for you to do what you did, though," she added.  "I had a right to know."

            "I thought we weren't gonna get into this again," Logan commented, making certain he continued to sound calm and friendly.  He knew that if Max pushed the conversation he would likely lash out at her, but he was determined to hold his tongue for as long as he could.  He didn't want to go through another month kicking himself for the way he'd spoken to Max.  _Especially not with all that could happen this month._

            "Sorry," Max apologized, sounding genuinely contrite.  "I didn't mean it that way.  I just . . . never mind."

            "Okay," Logan replied.  He couldn't help but smile, despite the fact that Max seemed to be on the verge of tears.  All that mattered was that he and Max had managed to get through five whole minutes without yelling.  The teakettle began to whistle, and as Logan took a step forward to pour the water for tea, Max practically lunged at him.  Before he even knew what was happening, he found himself in her arms, a vise-like embrace that he suddenly feared would suffocate him.  He looked into her eyes, still so dark, and warm, and familiar.  _Pull away, now!_ a voice screamed at him, seemingly from so far away.  He ignored his subconscious' warning and leaned in, inhaling Max's breath and touching his lips lightly to hers.  He'd only meant to give her a soft kiss, little more than a sign of friendship, but then felt her hand on the back of his head, drawing him in, deepening the kiss into something wild, something intensely passionate.  It was a repeat of the kiss that they'd only shared once before, the first time she returned to him from the dead.  Startled by Max's display, he pushed her away, softly yet forcefully, and locked his gaze onto hers.  _I can't,_ he lamented silently.  _It's the one thing I really want, and it's the one thing I can't have.  If I give in now, I may never be able to stop.  We both have things to do.  We can't be together._

            He could see confusion in her expression, bewilderment as to why he'd pulled away after initially giving in so completely.  There was also a hint of disappointment and sadness.  And eagerness to lock lips once again.  "Max…"

            "No, don't," she purred as she leaned in, a quick, unexplained kiss pecking at his neck.  _She must be in heat,_ he tried to tell himself.  _It's the only explanation for this kind of behavior._  One look at her face, though, convinced him of the truth.  _She's not in heat,_ he admitted.  _It's so much worse.  She came here to make up.  She came to convince me that she understands what we've gotten ourselves into, and she's willing to do what she needs to to get us together.  Damnit,_ he cursed as he drew back a slight bit more.

            "Why?" Max asked curtly, taking a half-step back and appraising him with a semi-disdainful gaze.  Logan was completely unsettled by her rapid mood changes.

            "Max, it's just --"

            "No," she interrupted.  "Please don't say anything, Logan.  I'm not trying to seduce you, if that's what you think.  And I guess I shouldn't have been so forward.  It's just. . . . I don't know.  I just needed to feel close to someone, if that makes any sense.  I've just felt so alone, and I've missed you so much.  You know what I mean?"

_Oh, I know exactly what you mean,_ Logan answered silently, thinking back to the night he'd first slept with Syl, struggling with the guilt that had plagued him ever since.  That night he had felt hopelessly overwhelmed by his own life, and he was certain he could never handle it all alone.  Then Syl had come to him, and he gladly accepted her affections, if only to make him feel as if the burden of his life had somehow been lessened.  It hadn't been about love, it hadn't even been about lust.  He'd been vulnerable, hurt, consumed with agony over his apparent split with Max, and wracked with stress over the apocalyptic situation in which he'd found himself.  When Syl had come to him, her warm skin and tender eyes promising to make the pain go away, he'd found himself unable to resist.  _And then one night's solace became two, and then three, and a week, and a month…_  He looked at Max and wondered at his luck. And his stupidity.  _I did everything I could to move on.  I finally dared to think I could get over Max, whether I ended up with Syl or not, and then she comes waltzing right back through my door, reminding me of why I'd been so entranced for so damn long._  He fought the desire to scream in frustrated rage.  _I honestly don't know if I can send her away again._

"Logan?" Max asked, taking a cautious half-step forward, seeming concerned that he was so obviously preoccupied with his own thoughts.  "Are you okay?"

            "Huh?  Oh, uh, yeah," he assured her.  "My mind just wandered for a second there.  I've got so much going on right now."

            "I know what you mean," Max responded, taking another half-step forward, grabbing the front of Logan's shirt lightly as she pulled him into a loose, friendly hug.  It lacked the passion of their previous embrace, but it warmed Logan nonetheless, it made him feel safe and comfortable.  He hugged her back, inhaling her perfume as his lips spread into a smile.  _I'm so screwed,_ he decided, suddenly realizing that his fears were well founded.  _I admit it – I can't ask her to go this time._

            "Let me get the tea," he said, pushing her away ever so softly, immediately counting the seconds until he was back in her arms.  "We can talk out in the living room."  As she backed away slowly, he saw a look of shock on her face.  "What?" he asked.  "What is it?"  She didn't answer him.  Max just turned and bolted for the front door, not even bothering to grab her jacket as she raced for the stairwell.  Logan only caught sight of a blur that darted out of his view.  "Max!" he called out loudly.  "What is it?"  There was no response.

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            "Hey," Max muttered from the doorway, looking straight into Syl's eyes.  She seemed different than she had the last time Max had come by.  Gone was the openly challenging gaze, the implicit standoffishness that had thrown Max completely off-balance.  There was still something strange in her demeanor, though; something almost territorially defensive, but Max concluded that had to do with the fact that Syl was currently assigned to guard duty.

            "Hey," Syl answered with a shadow of a grin flitting across her face.  "He isn't expecting you," she added.  With her words, though, the shadow grew into a smile, though it lacked any genuine warmth.  It seemed forced, unsure, and cold.  Max had hoped that Syl would grow more comfortable with Logan as she spent more time with him.  _Several weeks should have been enough to endear him to just about anyone,_ Max had thought.  She wondered whether she should raise the topic with Logan – after all, the last thing she wanted for Logan was a bodyguard that spent her day wishing she could leave.

            "I was just out and thought I'd come by," Max commented as she entered Logan's penthouse, following on Syl's heels.  She was instantly assaulted by the familiar scent of home cooking.  _Funny,_ Max pondered as she kicked off her boots.  She'd never really dwelled on it before, but the scent always changed; one day it was pot roast, another it was Tex-Mex, and another Szechwan beef.  All very different, but all meaning the same thing – Logan was at it again in the kitchen.  She smiled at the vague familiarity of it all while she marveled that Syl had been able to maintain her thin, athletic figure while obviously facing the daily temptation of eating enough to really pack on the pounds.

            "Surprised you actually left Terminal City," Syl remarked as she gestured toward the couch.  Max sat down as Syl continued through the apartment, presumably going to tell Logan that he had a guest.

            "Had a meeting.  Besides, it's been calm enough lately," Max called out to her retreating sister.  "I figured I'd get out and stretch my legs a bit.  Alec and Joshua have everything under control back home."  She waited for a few brief moments, fighting the urge to eavesdrop on Syl and Logan as she told him he had a guest.  It didn't take Logan long to come out and play host.

            "Max!" Logan called out happily as he walked into the room, Syl having stayed behind farther inside the penthouse.  "I wasn't expecting you."

            "I know," Max replied, a delighted smile lighting her face.  She hadn't expected Logan to seem so happy to see her.  Part of her argued that she should immediately start interrogating him to find out why he seemed so happy, while another part was screaming for her to stop being suspicious and just rush up and give him a hug.  She settled for a compromise – staying seated on the couch and beaming up at her host like a delighted schoolgirl.  She couldn't avoid thinking about the fact that the entire situation seemed wrong, somehow.  The last time she and Logan had been in the same room, the result had been an argument that she feared would drive a wedge between them forever.  Now he seemed to be on the verge of tears of joy.  It was all more than Max had expected.  She'd figured the best she'd get was a polite conversation that would allow them to start mending their friendship.

            "Can I get you anything?" Logan offered, as usual catering to his guest's every need.  It was something Max missed, and the familiarity of the situation made her feel comfortable, at home.

            "Maybe some tea."  Max stood up and followed Logan into the kitchen, surprised when she realized her eyes had wandered to Logan's butt.  _As nice as ever,_ she decided as she diverted her eyes and started looking in the cabinets for the teabags.  _Right where I left them,_ she thought with a smile as she dug out a variety pack of assorted teas.  She took out an Earl Gray for Logan, and after a moment's deliberation decided upon some Japanese Green Tea for herself.  She was just about to put the box away when a new thought occurred to her.  "Is Syl gonna join us?" she asked, hoping even as she spoke that the answer would be no.

            "No," Logan replied, obviously so involved in filling the teapot with water that he missed Max's relieved sigh.  "She's gonna take a quick cat nap while you're here," he added.  "She hardly ever sleeps – she's always on guard duty.  Figures she should take the opportunity while it's here."  Max nodded absently, satisfied that Syl seemed to take her responsibilities seriously.  At the same time, though, something in Max's gut didn't feel quite right.  She found herself pursuing the topic, even though she hadn't really planned to.

            "She trust me to keep you safe while she catches some Z's?" she asked, trying to smile so that Logan wouldn't suspect she was suspicious.  _But suspicious of what?_ she wondered at her own reaction. _Logan's alive, so it seems like Syl's been doing an okay job so far.  Just what is it that's got you wigged out?_

            "Who better than the Chosen One?" Logan asked with a smile.  Max wondered if Logan knew just how much it pissed her off to be called 'The Chosen One.'  It wasn't a title she felt could apply to someone like her, and it implied a burden she didn't feel capable of supporting.

            "Logan, please," Max said softly, looking at him right in the eyes, trying to display her resolve and impress upon him just how serious she was about this issue.  "Don't call me that, 'k?"

            "Fine," Logan answered, appearing unable to free himself from her gaze.  Max felt herself caught up in Logan's eyes, suddenly remembering the first time she'd ever seen him.  _I wonder how much different my life would have been if I hadn't had a thing for Bast,_ she mused, thinking through the past couple years, trying to determine what, if anything, would have been the same.  Try as she might, she couldn't imagine having been in Seattle anywhere near as long as she'd been if she hadn't gotten to know Logan.  _You know, I probably would never have known about the Familiars, either,_ she decided.  And with that thought her mind flashed from her comfortable reverie about friendships back to the uncomfortable consideration of her current situation.  _McElroy, and White, and everything else,_ she fumed silently, just as Logan tore his gaze away, suddenly making Max feel very alone against the challenges facing her.  Max could only wonder what had been going through her friend's mind, and she fought to conceal her disappointment that he didn't seem as committed to being there for her.  "So I guess you've been busy," he said, obviously trying to change the topic.

            "Very," Max agreed, deciding to let her host avoid any serious conversations if that's what he wanted.

            "So is this your first time out since…"

            "Since the night we had our little . . . discussion," Max told him.  She kept to herself the fact that the only good reason she could think of for leaving Terminal City was to see him, and that in the wake of their argument she hadn't thought she'd be welcome.

            "Right," Logan responded.

            "Maybe I shouldn't have come," Max suggested, surprised that she felt so awkward.  _I didn't even feel this uneasy in here when I was breaking in,_ she marveled.  "I didn't mean to --"

            "No, I'm glad you did," Logan interrupted.  Suddenly, Max was wondering at the meaning of the strange, fluttering sensation in her stomach.  "It's good to see you again.  I've just been so busy."

            "I know," Max responded, happily grabbing hold of an opportunity to inject some normalcy – some of their reassuring old familiarity – back into the conversation.  "The amount of intel you've dug up, the way you speak when you give your reports . . . it's all amazing.  _You're_ amazing."  _And don't I just sound like a bit of a dope,_ Max chided herself.  _Shouldn't 'The Chosen One' seem far more calm, cool, and collected?  I sound like a kid…_

            "I'm just a guy doing his part," Logan replied humbly.  "You're the amazing one, Max.  The way you hold everything together, especially with the amount of stress you've got to be under."

            "I couldn't do it alone," Max assured him, taking a slow step forward, wondering if Logan even noticed her hesitant advance.  "Believe it or not, even Alec has been a huge help."  _Damnit!_ she cursed silently as soon as the words escaped her lips.  She knew all too well that Logan would react poorly to the mention of Alec's name.  In confirmation of Max's fears, she saw a dark cloud mushroom up behind Logan's eyes.  _Please don't be angry, please don't be angry, please don't be angry,_ Max pleaded silently, even as it suddenly struck her as incredibly odd that she should care so much.  _Oh crap.  Just what are you doing, Max?_ she asked herself suspiciously, as if her subconscious had had a plan all along, and that she was only then beginning to catch on.

            "And how's Joshua doing?" Logan asked, not at all abashed at his obvious attempt to change the topic once more.  Max was more than happy to let him do it as she continued to figure out what she was doing.

            "He's well," Max said with a nod and a smile, reflecting on how much Joshua had been coming into his own.  "He even got a tattoo."

            "He what?" Logan asked in wise-eyed surprise, his expression amusing Max more than Joshua's tattoo had.

            "He had Dix give him a tattoo," Max explained.  "It's a barcode, just like the rest of us.  I think he wanted to make a show of solidarity, though he interestingly got a barcode of all zeroes."

            "Worried about people forgetting his status as the first one?" Logan asked with a chuckle.

            "Well, you know, all that canine DNA," Max commented with an amused, sarcastic grin.  "He's always getting distracted by status in the pack and such stuff.  Too bad he doesn't have more feline in him – he'd worry more about ways to be left alone."

            "Is that what you want?" Logan hadn't missed a beat with his question, and Max was afraid a minor slip of the tongue could erase all the progress she'd felt they were making in closing the rift that had opened up between them in their last conversation.

            "No," Max said quickly, her mind racing into damage control mode.  "That's not what I meant.  At least not totally.  I'll admit that once in awhile it would be nice to have a couple of days to myself, but don't think I'm looking to avoid you or anything."  She was immediately embarrassed by how forthcoming she'd been about her feelings.  _Can I be any more obvious?_ she wondered as she felt her cheeks blush.

            "I was hoping not," Logan said cautiously.  _Is he afraid to seem interested?_ Max wondered.  _Or is he really as aloof as he's trying to appear?  How can it be so hard to read to him?  It used to be so easy, not so long ago…_

            "I mean . . . I don't know what I mean," Max muttered, her logical side openly warring with her emotions as she wondered whether or not she should just drop the subject and talk about something neutral.    _Maybe the weather,_ she decided.  "Logan…"  _Oh shit,_ she cursed silently.  She hadn't meant to say anything yet.  She certainly hadn't meant to sound like a lovesick teenage girl.  _But I **so did**, _she realized, disappointed at her lack of self-control.

            "Yes?"  His eyes were imploring her to continue, to let him know that everything was fine between them again.  She could see that he was wracked by guilt over the angry words they'd spat at each other a month earlier, and she knew all too well that his overdeveloped sense of pride would make it all but impossible to apologize until he at least had some hope that she felt the same way.  _Who woulda guessed he was such a chicken in a relationship?_ she wondered with no small bit of delight.  _I love knowing little things like that about him.  I love…_  She chased the thought away before she could finish it, herself suddenly afraid of her own feelings and the terrifying specter of intimacy that had always hung between her and Logan.  She took a deep breath and steeled her resolve, deciding that for the time being she would just concentrate on the apology phase of the conversation.  _I'll just leave that emotional crap for later.  I don't want to have to figure out my feelings in front of Mr. Eyes Only._

            "Last time I was here, we both said a lot of things," Max said, choosing her words with the care of a hostage negotiator, praying she didn't say anything that would set Logan off and turn the entire night into another huge fiasco.  "I just want you to know that I didn't really mean all of it."

            "I didn't mean it either," he answered warmly.

            "And I don't want to get into that whole conversation again, because I can't imagine how we could do that and not have another argument."  _Good job Max, _she congratulated herself.  _Let him know it's all right without really coming out and making yourself seem like a whipped little puppy._

            "Okay," Logan said soothingly.  Max almost started to melt as Logan's voice washed over her, warming her, comforting her.  _No, don't be like that,_ a part of her raged.  This was the voice she'd known all her life, the one that had constantly implored her, from early childhood, to avoid all displays of emotion.  _Emotions are a sign of weakness,_ it reminded her, curiously enough speaking with Lydecker's voice.  _Don't be that girl.  Come on, Max, it's not like Logan was completely blameless here._

            "I just want to say that when you said we had responsibilities . . . well, you were right," she continued, struggling to suppress the pride within that demanded a voice even as she fought to make certain that her emotions also didn't grab a hold and allow her to break down.  She was walking a fine line and wasn't certain she had the requisite emotional control and experience in relationships to pull it off.  "I didn't know then just how serious that was.  I do now."

            "I'm sorry I got so angry," Logan said to her.  "I really didn't mean to hurt you.  It's just that --"

            "I know," Max assured him.  "You don't need to say it.  You wanted to keep me safe."  _And did you really need it?_ her pride asked her.  Max was amazed that some part of her was still aching for a fight, especially when another part of her just wanted to smother Logan with affection.  She redoubled her efforts to remain non-judgmental, to just let bygones be bygones.  "I still don't think it was right for you to do what you did, though," she said, almost gasping as she realized that she was speaking despite her attempt to bite her tongue and take the high road.  "I had a right to know."

            "I thought we weren't gonna get into this again," Logan commented, his voice still even and unassuming.  Max didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him for being so mature about the whole thing, or punch him in his holier-than-thou face.

            "Sorry," Max apologized, deciding she should keep talking as she continued to debate the merits of her two alternatives.  "I didn't mean it that way.  I just . . . never mind."

            "Okay," Logan replied, his lips spreading into a smile that ended Max's quandary, driving out her pride and fanning the flames of a sudden, disconcerting desire.  The teakettle began to whistle, and for the briefest moment Max considered laughing at the appropriateness of the timing.  Logan made a slight move to get the water, but Max quickly intercepted him, grabbing hold of him tightly, wrapping him in a hug that she hoped felt as good to him as it did to her.  She looked up at him, meeting his gaze and instantly growing lost in his eyes.  _What are you doing?_ Lydecker's voice asked in a final, futile attempt at stoicism.  _This,_ she consciously answered, deciding that a demonstration was far preferable to further internal debate.  She felt Logan lean into her, and she matched his movement, touching her lips lightly against his, tentatively wondering whether he was planning on giving her a quick peck on the lips, or whether he was feeling as passionate as she was.  Disappointment welled up within her as she felt Logan start to pull away after an excruciatingly light touch, and Max resolved to take charge of the situation.  She reached around to the back of Logan's head and grabbed him softly but firmly, drawing him in deeply, hoping to show him exactly how she still felt about him.  She didn't over-analyze the moment, and she never stopped long enough to ask herself if her decision was really a good idea.  For the first time in weeks she just let go and thrilled at the ecstasy of the experience.

            Then she felt Logan's hands close on her shoulders and push her away, not strong enough to indicate revulsion but clearly demonstrating reluctance.  "Max . . ." he began, even as she struggled to compose herself enough to cut him off, to try to get back to that blissful moment where all of her loneliness and confusion had given way to warmth and certainty.

            "No, don't," she cut him off, once again moving in close, kissing him softly on the neck, trying to demonstrate that the time for talking had passed.  Again he drew back, suspicion beginning to glow in his eyes.  She could only guess at what was going through his head.

            "Why?" Max asked curtly, taking a half-step back and looking him over, suddenly certain that for one reason or another her advances were unwelcome.  _Some other guys would be thanking their lucky stars right now,_ she thought, taking offense at his hesitance.  _No, this isn't the time to be listening to my pride,_ she reminded herself.  _There's too much at stake.  I'm **not** making that mistake again.  I'm not leaving here under a cloud this time.  Better a mistake than a regret,_ she reminded herself, remembering McElroy's words.

            "Max, it's just --"

            "No," she interrupted.  "Please don't say anything, Logan.  I'm not trying to seduce you, if that's what you think.  And I guess I shouldn't have been so forward.  It's just. . . . I don't know."  For the briefest of moments she wondered whether she should open up to him, whether she should bare her soul to a man she hadn't seen in what seemed like forever.  _But if not him, then who?_ she wondered.  _Why did you come here if you aren't gonna go through with this?_  "I just needed to feel close to someone, if that makes any sense," she explained, knowing as she spoke that she wasn't being completely open though she was comfortable enough with her degree of candor.  "I've just felt so alone, and I've missed you so much.  You know what I mean?"  She was amazed that she'd been able to say what had been on her mind, but seconds seemed like hours as she waited for a response – any response – from the man she loved.  Logan didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes made her confident that he understood completely.  "Logan?" she asked, taking a cautious half-step forward, suddenly concerned that he was trying to come up with some way to tell her to leave.  "Are you okay?"

            "Huh?  Oh, uh, yeah," he assured her.  "My mind just wandered for a second there.  I've got so much going on right now."

            "I know what you mean," Max responded, taking another half-step forward, grabbing the front of Logan's shirt lightly as she pulled him into a looser, friendlier hug.  She made certain to omit the passion of their previous embrace, hoping she could make him feel safe and comfortable without making him feel awkward.  He hugged her back, smiling contentedly.

            _This is what I've been missing so badly,_ Max decided.  She took a deep breath as she grinned, and actually felt her stomach bottom out as she detected something she hadn't expected.  "Let me get the tea," Logan said as he pushed her away softly, his tone promising a return to their embrace as soon as his chore was done.  "We can talk out in the living room."  Max backed away slowly, aghast that he could be cruel enough to lead her on like that.  _You miserable bastard!_ she cursed, fighting the urge to knock Logan on his ass.  "What?" he asked.  "What is it?"  Max felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and knew that she would never be able to look herself in the mirror again if she broke down in front of Logan.  She turned and bolted for the door, her only concern being to make it to the stairwell before he could see her cry.  "Max!" she heard Logan call out loudly.  "What is it?"  She didn't answer.  She couldn't answer.  She wasn't able to look Logan in the eye and ask why Syl's scent was all over him.

_To be continued………………………………_


	7. A Fly in the Ointment

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Just a quick word on the story's genre.  It _was_ listed as Drama/Action/Adventure.  As I originally outlined the story, that seemed like the best classification.  As I write more (and thus flesh out the fic's framework), however, I'm beginning to find that Drama/Angst is probably the better description of genre.  (This is especially obvious in the chapters immediately preceding and following this one, as well as some later stuff that's written but that has not yet been given a Chapter # on account of I don't know yet where it fits in.)  For anyone that's been reading this with the expectation of some of the heavy Action/Adventure that I've put into some of my earlier work, I can only apologize for changing the emphasis somewhat.  Rest assured, though, that were I able to select a tertiary genre, Action/Adventure would be it, since it's still present (though recent changes have moved a great deal of the action 'off-screen').  I hope that explains everything well enough to make some semblance of sense.**

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VII – A Fly in the Ointment 

            "Are you sure you're okay?" Alec asked for the umpteenth time.

            "Yes," Max growled.  "Ask me again and I'll kick your ass."  She scanned the papers in front of her, satisfied that she and her lieutenant had covered everything they needed to as far as day to day operations in Terminal City were concerned.  Now it was time to address some of the major issues, to look at the big picture.

            "'Cause you know, Max, you really don't seem okay," Alec commented.  "Is there anything I can do?"

            Max simply glared at him in response, trying to launch mental daggers into his skull in an effort to make him shut up.  She wanted to scream, and cry, and puke, all at the same time.  _With Syl?_ she asked herself.  _How could Logan do that to me?  How could Syl do that to me?  God damn the both of them._

            "I'll come back later," Alec offered, his eyes gazing longingly at the door.  And escape.  (_Probably to a whiskey bottle and a woman willing to play strip poker with him,_ Max decided.)  She wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily.

            "We still have work to do," she reminded him.

            "Just strategy stuff that can wait 'til later," Alec responded with a sigh.  _He knows he's not getting out of here yet, but he's still gonna try,_ Max thought angrily.  _He's probably got a hot date or something.  Screw that.  I don't see why he should get to have any fun while I'm so damned miserable._

            "This is not a time for your 'why do today what you can put off 'til tomorrow' crap," Max spat.  "Let's go – it's strategy time."

            "Fine," Alec grumbled.  "Seems that McElroy has things well in hand for the time being.  From what you said, he has a fairly reasonable plan.  It'll just take some time.  As for --"

            "No," Max interrupted.  "Forget all that stuff that needs time. We have to talk about Zack and Kilroy."

            "Huh?"

            "Both of them will get in the way of any kind of peaceful resolution with the ordinaries," Max said.  "Normal people might be fine with Zack and Kilroy waging their own private wars as long as there're Familiars to kill, but they won't be too forgiving once it comes time to coexist.  We have to remember the big picture.  The Familiars give us a way to side-step the issue of the ordinaries, they don't actually offer us a solution.  Eventually we'll have to get over six billion people to accept us.  They won't care what we did for them in the past, Alec.  We'll have to prove to them that we have value in the present, or at least that the potential future benefits of accepting us far outweigh the dangers."

            "And just how do we do that?" Alec asked skeptically, as if Max had just suggested they spend the evening curing cancer and coming up with a clean, cheap, renewable source of energy.

            "One of two ways," Max answered.  "We can either demonstrate the ability to help the ordinaries reap incalculable benefits, or we can work hard to appear as harmless as possible.  We're soldiers, Alec – no one's gonna forget that any time soon.  So we have to make certain in our capacity as soldiers that we follow the ordinaries' rules.  That means any fighting we do _must_ be sanctioned by their government.  No private armies and no personal wars, covert or otherwise."

            "Okay, I see where you're going with this," Alec said with a nod.  "But knowing _what_ we want to do is not the same thing as having any idea of _how_ to do it."

            "I know," Max admitted, happily wrapping her mind around the present conundrum.  _The more you concentrate on this, the less you'll think about Logan._  Another wave of frustration and nausea washed over her as she remembered what had happened at Logan's penthouse.  _Damnit, Max.  Stop thinking about it._

            "One other point," Alec offered with obvious hesitance.  "Do we really want to stop Zack and Kilroy?  I mean, you know, right now?"

            "Huh?"

            "Both of them have value," Alec pointed out.  "Why not use them as long as we can?  After all, isn't it better to use up their resources rather than endanger our own people?"

            "They're _all_ our people," Max argued.  "They're transgenics, too."

            "And they had the option of joining up with you," Alec countered.  "Come on, Max, it isn't like they don't know where we are.  They could have come into Terminal City at any time.  Instead, they chose to stay out there and fight.  I don't know if we have the right to judge their decision, and I don't think we're under any obligation to shut them down."

            "Wrong," Max said angrily.  "Their actions are endangering the rest of us.  The transgenics in Terminal City have embraced pacifism and coexistence.  I _won't_ let these people get killed just because a few of us couldn't see the big picture."

            "And what if _you're_ wrong?" Alec asked.  "What if Zack and Kilroy are doing it right?"

            "I'm not wrong," Max said with far more certainty than she felt.  "And if you think I am, then maybe it's time for you to leave, too.  I'm sure Zack would gladly accept your help."

            "What?!" said incredulously.  "Okay, enough bullshit, Max.  I _know_ something's bothering you.  Something else happened while you were meeting with McElroy.  What was it?"

            "It wasn't McElroy," Max responded, suddenly burying her face in her hands as she wondered why she felt the need to talk about Logan.  _Especially with Alec,_ she marveled.  "I made a quick stop before I came back."

            "To Logan's?" Alec guessed.  Max nodded.  "So you two had another fight?"

            "No," Max answered.  "Not really.  Maybe sort of.  Things were fine at first.  He kissed me… or I kissed him.  I'm not really sure.  Anyway, we kissed, and things were going great."

            "And that's why you're all upset?  Have you two found another excuse to dance around each other for another year?"

            "It was all an act," Max whimpered, surprised at the beaten tone in her own voice as it escaped her lips.  "He's sleeping with Syl."

            "He told you that?" Alec said with obvious surprise.

            "No," Max continued, "but I could smell her all over him.  And I'm not talking about casual contact, Alec.  I mean… you know what I mean."

            "Yeah," Alec mumbled.  "Did he deny it?"

            "I just ran out as soon as I smelled her," Max explained.  "I thought I was gonna break down, and I took off.  I didn't want…"

            "You didn't want him to see you cry," Alec guessed.  He stood up, crossed to Max, and squatted down, putting his arms around her in as comforting a hug as he could muster.  "It's okay, Max."

            "No, it isn't," Max blubbered, no longer caring that tears were streaming down her face and sobs were causing her to shake like an epileptic playing video games.  "I… I can't even think about it.  I think I love him, Alec, and I don't know what to do."

            "You _think_ you love him?" Alec asked with amusement.  "Of course you love him, Max.  You expect me to believe you didn't know before now?"

            "Shut up," she responded, her reproach sounding comical through her tears.

            "Fine," Alec grumbled, holding Max a little more tightly.  "But if you want I should break his legs or somethin', you'll let me know, right?"

            "Sure," Max replied, smiling despite herself.  She looked up at Alec, and was amused by the fact that he clearly had no idea whether his mirth was welcome or not.  "Thanks," she whispered.

            "There was nothing to it," Alec said with a proud humility that made him sound as if he'd just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.  "You gonna be okay?"

            "Yeah," Max assured him.  "I feel much better now, actually.  Maybe there's something to all that touchy-feely hippie crap about just letting yourself cry when you need to."

            "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Alec assured her.

            "I know you won't," Max responded with a faux wicked smile, "Because you know what would happen to you if you did."

            "Well, not for certain, "Alec commented, "but I can imagine.  And it's very, very scary."  Again Max was forced to smile.

            "Seriously, we have to get back to work," she said.

            "Well, my opinion hasn't changed," Alec replied grimly.  "I think we should keep Zack and Kilroy in play."

            "Zack's flipped out," Max retorted.  "He's been hitting the Familiars left and right, almost happy that they've used ordinaries as human shields.  He doesn't care, Alec – he blows up the innocent people, too."

            "It's a strategically sound decision," Alec countered.  "You should know that."

            "I know it's tactically sound, but it's morally reprehensible," Max argued.  She heard a soft, disappointed sigh escape Alec's lips when she started talking about morality again, but she ignored him and continued.  "Joe Public on the streets doesn't give a rat's ass whether Zack's decisions are strategically sound.  He's not willing to debate the inevitability of collateral damage.  All he's gonna care about down the road is that a group of transgenics took the law into their own hands and started waging war with no regard for who got in their way.  The ordinaries are already afraid of us, Alec.  Why in the world should we do anything that could justify their fears?"

            "I see what you're saying," Alec answered.  "I really do, Max.  But in the end it's all for the better.  If Zack eases up, or if we take him out of play, our enemies might get enough breathing room to launch some new doomsday scenario.  Then we'd be guilty of not using every resource at our advantage to prevent billions of deaths.  We could end up doing more damage through inaction."

            "Better a mistake than a regret," Max muttered to herself, though she knew that Alec's genetically enhanced sense of hearing had likely allowed him to make out all of her words.  "No, I've given that philosophy a little too much weight lately," she finally said.  "We can't take any chances with Zack.  I think we have to shut him down."

            "And Kilroy?" Alec asked.  "What about him?"

            "We're not even sure it's really a 'him,' " Max pointed out.  "For all we know, Kilroy is a woman.  All we know for sure is Kilroy is commanding Deck's old troops, and that he or she has gone out of his way to remain anonymous as he tears up safehouse after safehouse.  I don't know about you, but I can't trust anyone that's gone to such great lengths to keep his identity a secret."

            "Neither can I," Alec admitted, "but he's getting results.  Kilroy's people have protected transgenics from violence, and they've uncovered some intel on the Familiars.  From what we know, they also haven't been anywhere near as violent as Zack's people; at least they seem to try to avoid unnecessary injuries.  Why not at least leave Kilroy alone?  We might as well anyway, you know, since we have no idea who he is."

            "I bet Zack knows," Max guessed.  _Yeah, the two of them have such similar agendas that it's almost inevitable that they've shared information.  We can take down Zack and use him to get to Kilroy._

            "Maybe," Alec admitted.  "But that still leaves the problem of taking down Zack; and like I said, I think that's a bad idea."

            "I heard you the first couple of times," Max hissed.  "I see what you're saying, but it's unacceptable.  Zack's gotta go.  Kilroy, too.  That's my decision."

            "Of course."

            "I hope I can trust you to take care of this," Max said, suppressing the urge to apologize to her lieutenant for phrasing her comment in a way she knew he'd likely find offensive.  _He's a soldier,_ she told herself.  _He's required to follow his orders, whether he likes them or not._

_To be continued………………………………_


	8. Chapter 8

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Writing this story is starting to get so fun…**

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VIII – Chapter 8 

            "Should I even bother to ask where you've been?" Logan asked as Set walked into the office.

            "Probably not," the transgenic answered gruffly.

            "Well I think I'm going to, anyway," Logan retorted.  He felt he'd been more than understanding of Set's penchant for disappearing just when Logan most wanted him around.  _This crap's getting old,_ he seethed.

            "I was meeting with several of my contacts," Set told him.

            "That's it?"  Set was completely unreadable, but Logan still felt he had a distinct advantage – instinct.  And his instincts told him that there was far more going on than he was being told.

            "No," Set admitted with a disinterested tone.  For the first time since accepting Set's assistance, Logan was struck with the fear that he might have been better off without the Slinger.  _Sure, he's been an incredible asset,_ he acknowledged.  _He's a one-man strike team, he has a seemingly bottomless bank account, and he's got contacts up the whazoo . . . but I don't know where his loyalties really lie.  I don't know if I can control him._  That realization hit Logan hard, and he found himself wishing that Syl was in the room with him instead of sulking in the guest bedroom.  His head was suddenly filled with the admonitions of folk wisdom and philosophers, warnings against playing with fire and looking into the abyss.

            Logan found himself faced with two alternatives – he could square off against Set right then and there, engaging him in a contest of wills that would determine without question who was in control of their alliance, or he could just let it slide.  Again.  _Enough of this,_ Logan decided.  "I want to know where you were," he told his guest.  "I want to know who you met with, and what you found out."

            Set looked at him with a curious stare, as if he was trying to make sense of the words he had just heard.  Logan was forced to wonder if anyone had ever stood up to Set before.  "I'll tell you what I can," Set said, seeming to offer a compromise between full disclosure and absolute secrecy.  Logan nodded, deciding that for the time being it would do to hear the high points.  He felt he still needed Set, at least for a little while longer.  _It really isn't tactically advisable to give him any ultimatums right now._

            "Most of my contacts have sworn me to secrecy out of fear that, if captured, you'd give them up in a heartbeat if you knew their identities," Set explained.  "I know that isn't the case; or, to be more precise, I know you would never _willingly_ give them up.  Of course, I can't make any kind of informed judgment on your ability to withstand torture or resist any one of a number of drugs and interrogation techniques."

            "I get the point," Logan assured his lieutenant.  "What can you tell me without revealing the names of your sources?"

            "Zack is on the verge of taking his war to the next level," Set reported.  "He's decided that the government is about to sanction his activities against the Familiars, and he's using that as a recruitment pitch.  He's had roughly a dozen new recruits in the last week, some of them from your own ranks."

            "I thought so," Logan admitted, remembering reports that seven of his people had gone missing recently, none of them in a combat-related situation.

            "That blast at the Willard Building was his work, too," Set added.  "He deliberately aimed to include civilian casualties as a message to the Familiars.  He wanted them to know that they wouldn't be able to shield their facilities with innocent bystanders."

            "I see," Logan muttered, part of him revolted that even Zack would do such a thing, and part of him disgustedly admitting that Zack's decision might help save countless innocents down the road.  _Tactically sound but morally repugnant,_ he decided, coming to the same conclusion about Zack's commands that he so often did.  _He may get results, but he's still more terrorist than soldier,_ Logan reminded himself, once again vowing to walk the high road.  He would never allow himself to walk Zack's path, where his obsession with his goals clouded his ability to differentiate right from wrong.

            "I also spoke to Senator McElroy," Set said, surprising Logan with that revelation.

            "Why?"

            "He had things he wished to discuss," Set responded with a shrug.  "Turns out McElroy is the one that came up with the Slinger program, so he knew all about me.  He's got a lot of people in the NSA who owe him favors, and he had them track me down.  He was very interested to find out that I work for Kilroy."

            "He knows?"  That definitely caught Logan off-guard.

            "He asked me what I'd been up to since the escape, and I told him I worked for Kilroy," Set clarified.

            "Why?" Logan asked.  _This is exactly the kind of thing I was worried about with him,_ he realized.  _All this loose cannon shit, private agendas, illicit funds . . . I'll bet he even has a strike team he hasn't told me about._

            "I was under the impression it would be useful to let the senator know," Set answered simply.  A coy smirk passed across his face for a brief moment, and then vanished.  "Was I mistaken?"

            "No," Logan said hurriedly.  "Not at all.  I think you're right; it'll be easier to control things now."  Logan's eyes pored over Set as he searched for . . . something.  Not even Logan knew what he expected to find.  _He's known all along what I plan to do,_ he decided.  _And if he's already figured out my endgame, there's no telling what he's come up with to complement it.  Or interfere with it._

            "Is that all?" Set asked.

            "Where do your loyalties lie, Set?" Logan asked.  He hadn't planned to be so blunt; he thought he could be far more clever.  But when it came time to ask the question, some part of Logan's brain prevented him from engaging in a verbal sparring match and just cut to the chase.

            "The future," Set answered enigmatically, his amused eyes daring Logan to draw his 10mm and demand a more satisfactory answer.

            "Think you could be just a little clearer?" Logan asked, resisting the urge to introduce firearms to the conversation.

            "I mean what I said," Set answered.  "I mean it quite literally.  I'm not talking about some kind of ideal future where transgenics and ordinaries live in peace.  I don't mean a future where only my kind, or your kind, or White's kind, or any group in particular inherits the Earth for itself.  I mean _the future_.  Out at Megiddo the Familiars planned to unleash The Coming.  It would have wiped out humanity.  And if the pathogen mutated, which isn't a very far-fetched possibility, it may have also wiped out the Familiars and every other life form on the planet.  Not that I wouldn't enjoy the irony of the Familiars being hoisted on their own petards, as it were, but the idea of _everything_ being destroyed was not entirely pleasant.  So I fought to preserve the future, whatever it may be."

            "So you're gonna stand there and expect me to believe that you have absolutely no interest in what shape the future takes?"

            "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

            "No."

            "Then you're a wise enough man," Set said with a disturbing grimace that Logan thought was supposed to be an amused smile.  He could only conclude that smiling was something so alien to Set that the transgenic had never learned to do it properly.

            "So there're things you aren't telling me," Logan surmised.

            "Of course there are," Set admitted.  "I already told you that much on the plane ride back from Megiddo.  So yes, there are things I'm not telling you, just as there are things you aren't telling me.  Or Max.  Or Syl.  Though I'm disappointed that neither of them has put it all together yet.  Especially Syl."  He shook his head, almost sadly, and then abruptly changed the topic.  "Perhaps it's best if we redefine our relationship."

            "How so?" Logan asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

            "We're allies, you and me," he explained.  "Or, more to the point, Kilroy and I are allies.  I think Eyes Only is an associate, and Logan and I . . . well, I'd like to think Logan and I may actually be friends."  It caught Logan off-guard to hear Set speak of him as three different people, though he also had to admit that it made sense.  Each of his three identities had very different agendas, and Set couldn't be expected to feel the same way about all of them.

            "Would you?" Logan asked, amused at the idea of Set having friends.  It just didn't seem right, like the idea of having a crocodile as a tub toy.  He was just too dangerous and self-involved to ever treat anyone as an equal.

            "I'll be there for you when no one else is," Set promised coldly, forcing Logan to wonder if that was, in fact, a good thing.  "When the others abandon you, condemn you, or are simply cut off from you, I'm the one that will be there for you.  At your side, making certain everything goes as planned."  A chill went down Logan's spine as he listened to Set speak, but he was strangely grateful, nonetheless.

            "Thank you," Logan said.

            "Don't mention it," Set said evenly as he turned and made a move to leave Logan's office.  "If you don't mind, I haven't eaten in three days.  I'd like to get a quick meal if that's not a problem."

            "Mi casa es su casa," Logan replied.  As Set left, Syl walked in.

            "Hey," she muttered to Logan as she half-turned to watch Set walk out of view.  "You told me this morning you needed me to meet with someone for you tonight."

            "Yeah, it's someone who does work for Eyes Only," Logan told her, finally getting up the nerve to introduce Syl to one of his better contacts.  The only other person he had ever trusted with this kind of responsibility was Max, and despite the fact that he trusted Syl with his life, he had trouble taking this big step.  _But if not her, then who?_

            "Really?" Syl asked.  "You sure you want this?  I thought you tried to keep them all a secret."

            "I trust you with this," Logan assured her.  "The meeting is down at the old Space Needle.  Here's a picture," he added, passing over a worn photograph of a middle-aged man in a far-outdated suit.  "His name is Kevin Corben.  He was my mentor, the man who got me into cyber-journalism in the first place.  He's got some information about the police commissioner; apparently, he's ripping off some of the supplies from the National Guard troops around Terminal City and selling them to line his own pockets."

            "Predictable," Syl muttered.  "But wouldn't this Corben guy be more comfortable with you instead of me?"

            "No, I mentioned you a couple of weeks ago, and he's the one who actually suggested this meeting," Logan answered.  "It'll be just fine."

            "So . . . there anything else?" Syl asked.  Her tone caught Logan off-guard, as if she was expecting another topic of conversation.  _And of course, I have **lots** more to say,_ he admitted silently.  _But I don't know if now is the time._  He pondered the decision for a moment, and then resisted the urge to turn back to his computer and pretend he was too busy to talk any more.  _I have to do this,_ he told himself.  _Putting it off will only make it worse._

            "Well, one other thing," Logan muttered.  "If you've got a minute, that is."

            "I have lots of minutes," Syl assured him.  "Whadda ya need?"

            "We have to talk," Logan told her in 'that voice.'  It was the voice that always assured impending doom for any relationship, and just from looking at Syl he knew her experiences outside Manticore had prepared her for what was to come.

            "You don't have to say it," Syl said, her weight leaning to her left just enough to let Logan know she was aching for a chance to leave.  Despite what he wanted, he couldn't let her do that yet.

            "I think I do," he responded.  "You and I can't be like we are anymore," he said, finally coming to grips with what he felt was the situation.  _I don't care that Max and I had a fight a month ago, and I don't care that she ran away tonight for no apparent reason whatsoever.  That kiss sealed it – she's the one I want to be with._

            "I know," Syl told him.  "I knew as soon as I walked in the room, before you even said anything, though the tone of your voice left no doubt."

            "And?" Logan asked, hoping Syl would forgive him, that she would say she understood and didn't hold any ill will toward him.

            "And what?" Syl replied.  "I don't want it this way, but I understand, all right?  Is that what you wanted to hear, that I've actually fallen for you?"

            "Syl…"

            "No, shut up for once, Logan," Syl growled.  "I know what I said to you in the beginning, that you shouldn't think of me as anything special, that I only wanted to feel comforted, just like you.  I know I've insisted that you keep a safe emotional distance, and I'm glad you listened to me.  Just don't assume I heeded my own advice."

            "I didn't mean to hurt you," Logan pleaded.  _This is not going as well as I'd planned…_

            "I know you didn't mean it," Syl told him, "and I know this is probably tearing you up inside almost as much as it is me.  That's what I love about you Logan – you care.  You honestly care. Do you know how rare that is?  Do you realize that no one has ever really cared about me before, that no one's made feel as special as you do?"

            "I'm sorry."

            "_I know!_" Syl responded through gritted teeth.  "But that only makes it worse.  If you'd really just been using me, or if you treated me like shit, or if you cheated on me . . . then this would be far easier to take, just like it always was in the past.  But that's not the way it was.  You treated me like gold.

            "Do you remember back when we hit Gillette?" she asked.  Logan nodded.  "Well, while you and Deck were getting the satellite hack set up, I asked Max what she was doing with you.  I wanted to know what could possibly attract her to someone who was so obviously inferior.  No offense."

            "None taken," Logan assured her.  He kept silent the fact that he'd often wondered the same thing himself – on many occasions – and now he couldn't wait to hear an answer.

            "Max told me that you were incredibly easy to fall in love with," Syl told him.  "In fact, she said it was impossible not to.  You were not only caring and idealistic, but you were also willing to put yourself on the line to fight for what you believed, unlike so many other people out there.  And you treated her well, expecting nothing in return.  She knew you had feelings for her for a long time, but that you never tried to force anything, that you were always willing to let her decide on a relationship for herself.  You were the first person in her life that treated her with real warmth and didn't try to use her for something."

            "That's not really true," Logan objected.  "She did a lot of work for me, for Eyes Only."

            "And you and I both know you would have treated her just the same if she hadn't helped out," Syl countered.  "You made her feel safe, and wanted, and as if she belonged."

            "She did belong," Logan said.

            "I know," Syl admitted.  "And she still does.  She belongs with you right now.  You already know that, Logan.  I mean, you two couldn't keep your hands off each other in the ten minutes she was here."

            "You were spying on us?"

            "No, I can smell her on you," Syl told him.

            "What?" Logan asked, feeling his stomach lurch as he came to an unpleasant realization.  _Oh no, she couldn't have…_

            "I can smell Max's perfume on you," Syl told him.  "She was wearing the same old Tommy Girl she _always_ wears."

            "She only gave me a couple of hugs, just for a few seconds," Logan replied nervously.  "You can smell her after only that?"

            "Yeah," Syl muttered, taking a step toward the doorway.  "From all the way over here."

            "Can I ask you something?"  _I don't want to ask, but I have to know…_

            "Sure."

            "Do you think she could have, you know, smelled _you_ on me?"

            Syl's eyes went wide with surprise.  "Damn," she whispered.  "After last night… almost certainly."  _After last night,_ Logan thought miserably.  _After our marathon session in the bedroom.  And the shower.  And back in the bedroom.  Oh crap._  "Is that why she ran out so quickly?"

            "I think so," Logan answered.

            "She didn't say anything?"

            "No."

            "Maybe I should talk to her," Syl offered.  "I could try to explain that --"

            "No."  Logan stood up from his chair and crossed to his bodyguard.  "I'll take care of it, one way or another."

            "Okay.  But do you want some advice?"

            "Sure," Logan said.  _Can't hurt, might help._

            "Don't wait too long," Syl told him.  "Right now her mind is probably racing along, wondering how long this has been going on between you and me, wondering why you did it, and what I have that she doesn't.  I doubt she'll understand what it was without having you explain."

            "Would _you _understand if you were in her position?"

            "I'm not in her position," Syl answered caustically.  "I'm rebound girl, not true love girl."

            "Don't say that," Logan objected.  "Don't minimize what you mean to me."

            "And don't you say anything more than that," Syl grumbled.  "Just let it be, okay?"  Logan nodded.  "Just don't talk about it."

            "Okay," Logan muttered.  Syl turned to leave, to go to a meeting that Logan had arranged when everything had still been fine between them.  _All of five minutes ago,_ Logan thought glumly.  _It already seems like it was a lifetime ago._  Syl took a step, but Logan felt he needed to say something else.  "You _do_ know I genuinely care, right?"

            "Yeah, I know," Syl assured him.  "And that's why it hurts so much."

_To be continued………………………………_


	9. Quid Pro Quo

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Now that I've gotten most of the story outlined, I'm a little concerned.  It's far longer than I'd ever planned it to be…**

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IX – Quid Pro Quo 

            "You know, if we keep meeting in these hotel suites, people are gonna start to talk," Max commented as she ignored her mundane, cookie-cutter surroundings and focused on the presidential candidate seated across from her.  She couldn't place why she was increasingly comfortable around McElroy.  _He's a politician,_ she told herself at every turn.  _I should really be far more suspicious and alert_.  When she wasn't reminding herself, Alec was doing it for her.  _"He got where he is because he's always been a better liar than those that opposed him,"_ Max remembered Alec warning her just that morning.  _"Never trust him, Max.  He's using us; just because we're using him, too, doesn't make him any more trustworthy.  In fact, it probably makes him less so."_

            "As much as I would love to meet with you in your own home, I don't think it's quite worth the health risk," McElroy commented.  "One time in Terminal City is enough for me, thank you.  And since our enemies are likely keeping most of my better known haunts well under surveillance, we can only meet in random, unsuspected locations."

            "I get it," Max assured him, feeling a bit offended that the senator had felt the need to explain his safety precautions.  _Like I'm suddenly not a super-soldier or something anymore…_

            "Well, everything is going according to plan," McElroy explained.  "The Black Omegas have been doing their thing, and while they've had some success, they've also taken what many feel are unacceptable losses.  Just last night they lost three men in an eight-man team, all to take down only one of these cultists.  That can't continue."

            "No, it can't," Max agreed.

            "And that's why Ashton is about to make his move," McElroy continued.

            "_The president_?" Max asked.  She'd always known that the plan was to get 'the government' to let up on her people, but when she'd thought of 'the government,' it had always been in terms of some vague, anonymous persona who made decisions from the shadows.  She'd never really pictured President Ashton, well known for his anti-military sentiment and prodigious social programs as being the man to announce freedom for her people.  Now that she was faced with the possibility, she found herself surprisingly unable to picture such a scene.  The strangeness of it all had her suddenly worried that something would go wrong at the last moment.  _Just like it always does._

            "Ashton's already got his people working on a speech to announce clemency for the transgenics, provided they keep their word and re-enlist."

            "All of us?" Max asked suspiciously.  _That wasn't the deal I made._

            "At least fifty percent," McElroy answered immediately, almost nervously.  Max's suspicions were only raised that much more as she hung on the senator's every word.  "I apologize if I gave the wrong impression.  To be quite frank, I don't think Ashton wants even fifty percent to join up.  I'm sure you know his preference for a small military – man should have been born decades earlier so he could have been a hippie, actually – I think he's nervous about arming your people and giving them additional training.  Besides, my guess is he'd rather have your genetically engineered brains doing some kind of think-tank work in D.C., coming up with ways to solve the nation's problems as quickly – and cheaply – as possible.  Or maybe he'd just love to make you all public school teachers in some of the rougher urban areas or some other touchy-feely idea like that."  McElroy's sudden disparaging, sarcastic tone caught Max completely off-guard.  She'd gone from paranoia to shock as McElroy made it perfectly clear that he and the president were not on the same page, politically.  _But then again, politics makes strange bedfellows,_ Max reminded herself.  _After all, who woulda guessed at a pairing like McElroy and me?_

            "I think any plans the president has for employing the civilian transgenics would be fine with most of the ones that don't enlist," Max admitted.  "After all, we _are_ gonna have to find jobs and stuff."  _It looks like everything is actually gonna work out,_ she thought cautiously, marveling at how quickly her own moods and perceptions were shifting during the conversation.

            "There's just one problem," McElroy said, rekindling Max's paranoia and bringing her hopes crashing down around her.

_            I knew I shouldn't have gotten so relieved,_ she thought miserably.  _Should have known it was all too good to be true._  "What is it?"

            "We're aware of two leaders," McElroy answered.  "They go by the names of Zack and Kilroy.  I know Zack is one of the original escapees, your own squad leader from your Manticore days."  Max only nodded in confirmation, not seeing any point in denying something that had likely been well documented in McElroy's senate committee.  "The other is someone else . . . we don't know who he is yet.  We want them both."

            "Excuse me?"

            "They're to be surrendered to the United States government, to be tried as domestic terrorists," McElroy explained.

            "The hell they are," Max spat, immediately regretting that she'd spoken before she even thought the matter over.  "They're _not_ terrorists.  They haven't made any move against your government.  They've been destroying the Familiars, the very same group that you're now so concerned about wiping out.  Exactly how far does your hypocrisy go?"  Max glared at the senator, trying to make him wilt under her gaze.  It only infuriated Max more when she realized her attempt was an utter failure.

            "Are you done?" McElroy asked nonchalantly.  A thin smile passed momentarily over his face, just long enough to let Max know that her host was well aware of how much his indifferent calm was pissing her off.  And that he enjoyed it.

            "You can't have them," Max growled.

            "This term is non-negotiable," McElroy stated calmly.  "We've come so far together already, Max, in such a short time.  I would hate to see you fail in getting peace for your people just because you're clinging to some kind of misplaced loyalty for your old C.O."

            "Why?" Max asked.  _They were only fighting the war that the government is fighting now,_ she seethed.  _Why punish them for that?  It's not even like the general populace even knew what was going on.  It's not like anyone out there is looking to punish the transgenics for taking matters into their own hands.  I don't get it…_

            "These men are criminals," McElroy said simply, a shrug of his shoulders accentuating his point.  "They've broken countless laws.  Are you going to deny that?  Are you going to say they're innocent?"

            "I'm going to say that given the circumstances, you should be willing to look the other way," Max countered, trying to reason with her political ally.  "What kind of precedent does this set?"  It was then that the senator's – and the president's – intent became clear.  "Wait a second," Max muttered, deciding to answer her own question.  "You're doing this _because_ of the precedent, aren't you?  You want to make an example of these two, to show the rest of us what happens if we don't toe the line.  And you get the bonus of taking down the only two that have ever shown any inclination toward militancy.  And that's what this is _really_ all about – you're removing them as a threat now, while you have an excuse.  You figure if you eliminate the troublemakers now, it'll be easier for you later."

            "In a way," McElroy admitted, "and I agree that you have cause to be upset.  But don't overlook our point of view in this, Max.  We were elected to serve the people, to look after their welfare, and while some of us are every bit as corrupt as the stereotypical Washington fat cat, there are still a few who take their responsibilities very seriously."

            "And you're one of them?"

            "You'll have to decide for yourself," McElroy said.  "I find that loudly proclaiming one's integrity from the highest mountaintop is usually an indication of the deepest corruption.  I think it's better just to keep my mouth shut and let my actions speak for me."

            "Spoken like a truly honest man," Max commented bitterly.

            "I've had lots of practice," McElroy returned.  "After all, I _am_ a senator."

            "And what of their soldiers?" Max asked, returning to the original topic as she decided that she didn't have strong grounds to oppose the arrest of the ringleaders.  "What about all the transgenics that fight for Zack and Kilroy?"

            "They'll be granted clemency – a full presidential pardon – provided they enlist and serve twenty years," McElroy explained.  "We understand that they're soldiers, it's how we had them raised.  Their commanders gave them orders, and it was virtually impossible for them to disobey.  To even consider such a thing would be completely alien to them.  As long as they demonstrate loyalty to the government, and a willingness to serve their fellow citizens, no punitive action will be taken against them."

            "I want that in writing," Max responded.  "From the president, himself."

            "You'll have it."

            "Then you can have Zack and Kilroy," Max finally decided.  "But I have one condition of my own; and just like yours, this is non-negotiable."

            "What is it?" McElroy, seemingly thrilled at the possibility of some kind of intrigue.

            "I want to be there when your people arrest Zack," Max said evenly.  "I want to make sure it gets done right, that no one is hurt.  I want his people safe, and I want to make sure he lives to see his trial, regardless of how certain the outcome is."

            "And what of Kilroy?"

            "Do whatever you want with him," Max muttered.  "I only care about Zack.  I don't even know who Kilroy is.  As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter one bit whether Kilroy lives or dies."

_To be continued………………………………_


	10. Introducing the Serpent to Save the Gard...

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: I want to thank ****Moonbeam for her assistance in beta reading this chapter.  I have to admit that I'm very happy with the finished product, and I could never have gotten Ashton's speech written this well without her help.**

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X – Introducing the Serpent to Save the Garden 

            Max took a deep breath as she watched the television, hoping President Ashton's speech would go far more to plan than Senator McElroy's had.  Rather than address the public from a secluded location, as McElroy had, Ashton was making his address in a press conference, all but guaranteeing that he would bravely (or stupidly – Max hadn't decided which one was more appropriate) face the third degree as soon as he announced that the transgenics were going free.

            "I know it may seem trite, but I have always considered myself blessed that I was born an American," the president began with a smile, as comfortable addressing the nation as most men would be talking to their neighbors.  Max couldn't help but smile herself, immediately feeling drawn in by the charismatic aura that was President Ashton's most defining characteristic.  "From the mountains to the prairies, from sea to shining sea, America is a nation of individuals, a people who value freedom and equality, who respect their fellow man.  Perhaps greatest of all, America has never hoarded its riches to itself.  This great nation has a history of opening its doors to those from around the globe who are seeking a better life, a life based on freedom, equality, opportunity, and the basic premise that hard work reaps rich rewards.

            "My fellow Americans, I feel that recent events have required me to reevaluate the situation that now exists in Seattle's quarantined zone known as Terminal City.  As you are all doubtlessly aware, transgenics created in American cloning experiments now reside in that wasteland, sequestered from the rest of the nation by National Guardsmen.  I now believe that it was fear, borne out of a lack of understanding, that led me and my fellow elected officials to take this action.

            "Now that I am more familiar with the facts, it is possible to approach the issue of the transgenics calmly and rationally, avoiding uninformed decisions based solely on emotional, knee-jerk reactions.  It is when we rush to judgment that mistakes are made, and I, like any other red-blooded American, am willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure that all those within our nation are treated with the dignity and respect that they deserve.  It is for this reason that this night, here and now, I am announcing a shift in the government's stance on the transgenics."

            "Not bad," Alec commented.

            "Not bad at all," Cindy added.

            "He's not done yet," Max reminded them.  _McElroy's speech started off well, too,_ she remembered.  _And that turned into a wonderful lesson on How To Be a Demagogue by the time it was done.  Let's see where Ashton goes with this._

            "Through the intercession of Senator Frederick McElroy, I have been able to work out a deal that is acceptable both to the United States government and to the transgenics," the president continued.  "The first thing that we, as Americans, must all come to accept is the fact that the transgenics are not monsters.  Many men and women, some of them educated individuals who should know better than to react emotionally in a situation like this, have been quick to cite the fact that the transgenics possess animal DNA, that as a result they are not human.  They claim that because of this the transgenics cannot have sentience… or souls.  Are we also to say that any human being born with a mutation that creates webbed fingers and feet – a mutation that is not altogether uncommon – is not human?  Are we to start oppressing those that are born blind?  Or deaf?  Or mentally disabled?  These people have genetic differences that make their DNA something other than normal, whatever it is that word means.  On the East Coast, the past few years have seen thousands of infants born with any number of genetic mutations, the vast majority of them the result of radiation released during the Pulse.  Should we pattern ourselves after Sparta and leave those imperfect babies on a hillside to be killed by the elements?  Or should we demonstrate the enlightened compassion our nation has always been known for, and embrace people of all races, creeds, colors, and genetic differences?

            "In my mind the answer to this question is clear.  Even if our own government had not created the transgenics, even if our own government did not have a responsibility to care for them now, I believe that it is our moral obligation as Americans to embrace our fellow citizens.  As Senator McElroy said in his earlier speech, the transgenics were born on American soil, to American surrogate mothers.  That means that they are all citizens.  Our nation, forever devoted to the ideal of equality, does not – and cannot – differentiate between transgenics and so-called 'ordinaries' any more than it now differentiates between blacks and whites; Native Americans, African-Americans, and European-Americans; devout and atheist; or rich and poor.  I say again – we have a _moral obligation_.  Could any of us look in the mirror if we ever intentionally turned our backs on our own people?  I hope I never live to see the day when any of my countrymen even try to do such a thing."  Ashton paused again, his well-practiced delivery making it appear that he was speaking off of the top of his head rather than reading from a teleprompter.  Finally, he went on slowly, solemnly.

            "The transgenics made the first move in our negotiations, an unexpected gesture of goodwill.  They know that they were created to oppose America's enemies; and a great number are willing to accept that role, and that responsibility.  Over half of the besieged transgenics have agreed that, should the siege be lifted, they will enlist in this nation's armed forces.  They are not being coerced, they are not being bribed – this was their first offer, their greatest desire.  These men and women, who far too often have been referred to as freaks, have volunteered to risk their own lives and well being to defend the rest of us.  It was this offer, more than anything else, which made me ashamed for the actions I've taken, for the thoughts that have crossed my mind.  I know in my heart that no monster would risk his own life to defend mine.  Indeed, such a noble willingness to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and to take arms against this nation's sea of troubles is one of the very hallmarks of our culture.

            "It is in a time of unprecedented need that the transgenics now come to us.  In his speech not long ago, Senator McElroy first revealed the existence of the Familiars, and it did not take our government's intelligence agencies long to verify McElroy's shocking information.  The facts about the Familiars speak for themselves.  The people of the United States have already formed their opinions, and I'm sure that they well understand the implications not only to the life and safety of our own nation, but to the very existence of the species.  As commander in chief of this great nation's armed forces, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.

            "My hope is that all nations will heed our call and join us in defending our people from the Familiars, the unseen enemy that clearly has an agenda of its own, an agenda without regard for race, creed, color, sex, or nationality.  I have already told you that the transgenics have agreed to join us in this struggle; and with confidence in our armed forces – with the unbounding determination of our people, both ordinary and transgenic – we will gain the inevitable triumph – so help us God.

            "We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of national unity; with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values; with the clean satisfaction that comes from the stern performance of duty by old and young, soldier and civilian, ordinary and transgenic alike.  We now focus our attention on regaining a secure and bountiful national life, and assuring that the benefits we gain for ourselves will endure to be enjoyed by our posterity."  Ashton stopped again and looked into the camera, a warm, confident, assuring, grandfatherly smile spreading across his face, allowing him to say more with his expression than he'd managed with his words.  All of a sudden, in her heart, Max was struck with the certainty that everything would work out fine.  "Thank you, my fellow Americans," Ashton finally said, bringing his address to a close.  He turned his attention to the reporters arrayed before him, but Max turned off the television.  She'd seen and heard all she needed.

            "It's all gonna work out," she said in amazement.  She could see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel; now, more than anything else, she wanted to get out into the real world, to lead her people in achieving Ashton's dream of ensuring peace and safety for humanity while rebuilding her homeland into the global power it had once been.

            "You might be right," Alec commented with obvious hesitation.  Max knew her sibling still had serious reservations about trusting a government that had already betrayed them several times. ("Just ask the Native Americans how trustworthy the U.S. government is," he'd suggested just that morning.  "If you can find any, that is.")

            "But…" Max prompted, knowing Alec hadn't intentionally left something unsaid.

            "But we're taking a huge chance by trusting him," Alec pointed out.  "Once this war is over, they might decide we're more trouble than we're worth.  And let's not overlook the fact that just because we're free to leave Terminal City, and just because we aren't going to get arrested for some of the stuff we've already done, that doesn't mean Joe Blow on the streets will necessarily pass up an opportunity to string up a lone transgenic.  We're still in danger, Max."

            "I know," she admitted, "but I think we can handle it now.  There might be violence, but it'll only be perpetrated by isolated individuals or small groups now.  It won't be like the mobs we were facing before we came in here.  Didn't you hear the way Ashton was talking about us?  He made us sound like heroes, Alec.  I've never been ashamed of what I am, but listening to that speech made me . . . I don't know . . . proud, I guess.  I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk about us like that."

            "Me either."

            "We just have to have faith," she told him.

            "It'll work out," Cindy put in.  "You'll see."

            "I hope so," Alec grumbled, seeming less than completely convinced but unwilling to protest any further.

            _I hope so, too,_ Max thought.  _Because if anything goes wrong, it'll be my fault.  I can only hope that I didn't just kill us all._

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            Not far away, secluded in the Elliott Grand Hyatt in the heart of what remained of Seattle's once-buzzing commercial and financial district, Senator Frederick McElroy leaned back and grinned as he watched Ashton's duel of words with the press.   "He's doing well," he commented absently, moving to refill his glass with Johnny Walker Blue Label.  "Would you care for some?" he offered his guest.

            "I don't drink," Set answered, his eyes fixed on the television screen, watching the president's every gesture and subconscious, physical reaction to the press' questions.

            "I don't know if I can trust a man that doesn't drink," McElroy jested with a conspiratorial wink.  Set ignored the opportunity to partake in lighthearted banter, however.  "So," McElroy said hesitantly, "it seems like everything is coming together for your people."  Again there was no response from the transgenic, and McElroy began to seem unsettled.  "I thought you would be happy about this."

            "Why?" Set asked, turning on the politician with an inquisitive stare.

            "Because your people are free now," McElroy responded.  "You can go anywhere now, do anything you want."

            "I've already been doing that," Set commented.  "This is only a minor step."

            "A minor step toward what?" McElroy asked nervously.  "I've told you I don't care for those kinds of comments.  It makes some of my staff a little uneasy."

            "None of your staff is here," Set pointed out.  "You're the only one I could be making nervous right now.  Am I upsetting you in some way?"

            "Umm…. no," McElroy said in a thoroughly unconvincing tone.  "It's just . . . well, some of my people feel you have an agenda of your own . . . something you're not telling us."

            "We all have our secrets," Set commented enigmatically as he turned back to the television.

            "That's not particularly reassuring."

            "What would you have me say?" Set asked, seeming irritated that McElroy was distracting him from Ashton's closing comments.  "Shall we talk about the weather?  Would you prefer we go down to the hotel restaurant for a large meal and a few stiff drinks?  I may be a co-conspirator of yours, but don't forget that I'm not a fellow politician.  I do things differently, Senator."

            "Of course," McElroy muttered hastily.

            "And rest assured that despite my admitted lack of social graces, I am certainly in your service," Set said with an obvious, practiced smoothness that belied his stated lack of refinement.

            "I don't doubt it," McElroy answered, his uncertainty vanishing in an instant as he once again displayed the confident, calculating demeanor he was known for.  "You have too much riding on our success."

            "So do you," Set reminded McElroy.  "And as long as we remember the plan – and our loyalties – we should both get exactly what we want."

_To be continued………………………………_


	11. Reporting Live From Gethsemane

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein)

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XI – Reporting Live From Gethsemane 

            Logan Cale sat staring at his computer screen, the cursor flashing, alerting him to the fact that his cable hack was ready to go.  He only needed to push a button, and he would be online with the entire city.  _And this report, like all of my recent reports, will be recorded and recast nationwide,_ he knew.  Ever since McElroy had come out with his compromise proposal, the national networks ate up any bit of transgenic reporting they could get their hands on.  It was only a couple of days before Eyes Only had become a nationwide sensation.  Logan knew the reasons for this were twofold – first, he was constantly in possession of the most recent information regarding the transgenics, and second (and more importantly, he felt), as an underground cyber-journalist he made no claim regarding the intellectual property of his reports.  This meant that anyone could re-air them for free, and in the post-Pulse economy, free was the best thing on the market.

            His right index finger moved to push the button, but just as his skin made contact with the plastic key, Logan thought better of it and snapped the digit back as quickly as if he'd touched white-hot glass.  _Not yet,_ he thought, part of his mind pleading with him not to start the report.  _Not now.  Not ever.  He shook his head, trying to physically chase away the fear and doubt that had steadily been growing in his gut._

            The very moment he accepted that first phone call from one of Lydecker's soldiers, as he drew breath to confirm that he was, in fact, Kilroy, he knew that it would all come down to this.  He was shocked when, in his quieter, lonelier moments, he had compared himself to great leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., and Ghandi, and Bobby Kennedy, and Nelson Mandela… the list went on and on.  Every time he thought about them, he pondered what they must have thought when times got rough, when they had to have wondered whether the personal price they were paying was too high.

            _They did what they had to do, Logan reminded himself.  __They may have feared it, but they did it.  And so will I.  Without really thinking about what he was doing – and thus providing himself with another chance to back out – he pushed the key and started the hack.  An almost imperceptible gasp escaped his lips when he realized what he'd done, but his years of experience kicked in and he started speaking the words that had become as easy for him to recite as his address and telephone number._

            "Do not attempt to adjust your set.  This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city."  Logan stopped to catch his breath and recall the memorized words of his report, and with one last mental nudge he began to say the words he'd never wanted to say.

            "President James T. Ashton recently announced that the United States government was reversing its stance on the transgenic issue, and that he was offering all of the transgenics clemency.  The president should be congratulated, not only for correcting one of the great injustices of our time, but for having the personal courage to see his error, admit to it, and to correct it – to do what he felt was right no matter the cost.  Politicians with such profound integrity and commitment are unfortunately few and far between.  President Ashton also made reference to the Familiars, and their threat cannot be overstated.  But it's also important that everyone know about two transgenics, men known only as Zack and Kilroy.  Each of them has assembled a personal army and taken their war to the Familiars.  Despite goals which may dubiously be referred to as noble, each man has undertaken his covert war without regard for the danger and destruction that's wrought on a daily basis.  Both men are petty criminal warlords playing at heroics.  Innocent men, women, and children – callously referred to by these domestic terrorists as collateral damage when they're caught in the crossfire – have been made to suffer so that Kilroy and Zack can fight a war that's not their responsibility to fight.  This must end immediately if there is ever to be a lasting peace between humanity and the transgenics."

            Logan pushed the button that ended the cable hack and leaned back in his chair, unaware of the nervously relieved sigh that escaped his chest.  _It's done,_ he told himself, surprised that it had been easier than he'd expected.  Suddenly sensing he wasn't alone, he whirled in his chair, coming face to face with Syl.  The horrified expression on her face said it all, though her words left no doubt as to what she thought.

            "What have you done?" she asked, her voice starting out weak and then cracking, ending only as a whisper.

            "What I had to," Logan answered simply.  _She had to know it was coming,_ he decided.  _She couldn't have thought Kilroy could just disappear.  The people won't allow it._  Even as he thought over the problem, he could see in her eyes that she was working it all out in her own mind.

            "You're done for tonight?" she asked.  An almost imperceptible nod answered.  "Then come to bed."  Logan saw so much in Syl's eyes – pain, sorrow, anger, disappointment, betrayal.  He could only imagine how she felt.

            "You know I can't," he told her.

            "One last time," Syl responded, her voice on the verge of pleading.  "Just give me this last time."

            "Syl…"  _How can I say no?_ he wondered.  _But then again, how can I say yes?_

            "Let me make it easier for you," Syl offered, crossing to him and softly grasping his hand, gently pulling him to his feet.  "Just come with me, Logan."  She led him from the room and down the hall, into the bedroom.  "When you wake up tomorrow morning, I'll be gone," she whispered to him as she nibbled and kissed his earlobe playfully.  "So there's no chance of this going any further than tonight."

            "I don't want you to le--"

            "Shhh," Syl interrupted.  "I know what you want now, Logan.  I understand it all.  I'll come back . . . eventually.  Once it's time," she assured him.  "Just let tonight be tonight.  Okay?"

            "Okay," Logan muttered, feeling the familiar heat start to build up within him.  _Just this one last time,_ he told himself.  _And then she and I are done for good._  He wrapped his hands around her waist, then slipped his hands under her shirt, running his fingertips over the soft skin of her back as he kissed her.  _The last time,_ he thought, almost shuddering with misery as he was struck with the full weight of what he'd just done.  He wanted to slip back in time, to undo the report he'd just made, but even as he considered such a ludicrous possibility, he also chased the thought away.  _What's done is done,_ he reminded himself as Syl jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed.  _It's only a matter of time now._

_To be continued………………………………_


	12. Let Slip the Dogs of War

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Thanks again to ****Moonbeam, for her seemingly exhaustive, multi-volume encyclopedic answer to my one quick question.  And she say's _I'm_ obsessive about detail…  :)**

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XII – Let Slip the Dogs of War 

            "Alpha team standing by," Mole muttered over the radio.  He gave a quick glance to the five other transgenics that were with him, noting with satisfaction that they all seemed as calm as if they were back in Gillette, taking part in a simple live-fire exercise.  _You would never guess that we're about to jump down the throat of our greatest enemy._

            "Beta team standing by," he heard several moments later.  Now that the Black Omega team working with him had dug in and was prepared to cut off all avenues of escape, Mole knew the order to attack would come any second.

            _Simple tactics,_ he'd thought when the mission's commander, an ordinary Colonel named Jeffrey Hutchings, had explained the plan.  The Black Omegas were to set up a secure perimeter, putting a bit of distance between them and the Familiars.  The extra space would offset their inferior reaction times, allowing them to fully utilize their marksmanship abilities and superior teamwork, an asset borne out of years competing with the physically superior but less cohesive transgenics.  Mole's transgenics would then hit the Familiar safehouse hard and fast, taking out as many as they could while letting stragglers flee if they had an opportunity.  _Not like they'll get very far…_

            "Alpha team, move in," Colonel Hutchings ordered.  A flurry of quick gestures allowed Mole to relay the command to his squad, and in a blur of motion they were upon the building.  An RPG reduced the front door to splinters moments before the transgenics arrived at the entrance, allowing Mole's soldiers to flood inside.  The gunshots' bright, strobe-like flashes – accentuated by the deafening crackle of small arms fire – intermittently lit the foyer, providing more than enough illumination for Mole's team to do its job.  The transgenics advanced through the rooms with frightening precision, cutting down one target after another.  Mole noted that two hostiles eluded the transgenic assault, but the roar of assault weapons from outside assured him that his enemies' escape had been short lived.

            It was all over within minutes, and by the time Hutchings had entered the secured building, Mole was puffing away on a cigar, standing over Gordon as he applied a field dressing to a flesh wound on his left forearm.  "Sir," Mole said evenly, saluting the colonel as he entered.

            "Nice job," Hutchings replied absently, already surveying the scene.  "Have your people started looking over any captured intel?"

            "Yes, sir," Mole answered.  "There's a lot of it, sir.  I don't think even our most optimistic analyses of the target expected what we found."

            "How much?"

            "Initial estimates guess we found everything, sir."

            "Everything?"

            "We're only beginning to look over the computer records, sir, but it seems we have identities and locations of over five hundred Familiars," Mole said, doing his best to seem nonchalant and unimpressed.  He was intent on impressing his new C.O., but he doubted that raving about the success of his team's second assault was the best way to win over Hutchings.  The man was a professional soldier cut from the same cloth as Lydecker – he was impressed only by cold, calculated efficiency.

            "How long would it take to download everything and get it out of here?" the colonel asked, recognizing the importance of removing everything to a secure location.

            "We're already working on that," Mole answered.  "We'll need fifteen, maybe twenty minutes more.  There are also several filing cabinets full of papers.  We'll need help moving them out of here."

            "Lieutenant," Hutchings called out.  As if out of thin air, a short, balding man appeared at his side, settling a suspicious stare on Mole from the corner of his eye.

            "Yessir," the lieutenant muttered with a sharp salute.

            "Have your men assist in gathering together all of the hard copies of this information," Hutchings ordered.  "Get on the radio, too.  I want a chopper sent in; this is far too much to carry out on foot."

            "Yessir."

            "This could be everything we needed," Hutchings muttered.  "Maybe now we can crush our enemy once and for all."

-------------------------------------------------

            Lillith sat back in her chair, dueling with her own guilt at having suggested a strategy that would doubtlessly lead to the deaths of hundreds of her own people.  _Not only grown men and women, but children, too…_  As much as she questioned the merits of her own scheme, she forced herself to face the uncomfortable fact that it was now far too late to go back.  The information had been released – the government's Black Omegas now had enough information to destroy almost a thousand Familiars – fully ten percent of their total number.  _There's no telling what kind of assets we're surrendering,_ she thought miserably.  To be convincing, she and her superiors had known that they needed to sell out some of their best and brightest.  The ordinaries had to take significant losses if the ruse were to be believable.  The Familiar targets had to fight tooth and nail to survive, as if they were in fact the last of their people.  The selected individuals were strong enough to ensure that the deception would succeed.

            A sudden crash from above knocked Lillith out of her reverie.  She went through a mental list of everyone in the building, wondering who had caused the noise and what large piece of furniture had to have been knocked over.  Another crash cut her thinking short, and the reverberation that shook the building's foundation told Lillith that the first noise hadn't been an accident.  Her home was under attack.

            As if in verification of her conclusion, gunshots erupted above.  _The government's forces,_ she thought, doing her best to suppress her panic.  She'd been in far worse situations before; there was no way she would let fear cloud her mind.  _The entrance to the sub-basement is hidden,_ she reminded herself.  _I doubt they'll find it, even if they know to look for it.  And besides, finding the entrance and getting in are two entirely different things.  I should be safe enough until I can get some reinforcements._

            She picked up her phone and dialed quickly, thankful that she'd had the foresight to insist on encasing the lines in steel-reinforced concrete.  She doubted the transgenics would be able to cut her off before she called for help.

            "Hello?" she heard Mr. Johnson's familiar voice ask from the other end of the line.

            "This is Lillith," she said evenly, ignoring the fact that another blast almost shook her out of her chair.  "The transgenics have located my home.  I need reinforcements."

            "I'm afraid that's impossible," Mr. Johnson replied.

             "What?"

            "Well, Lillith, we had to make it believable, of course," Johnson responded coldly.  "I think even the ordinaries would have figured something was amiss if everyone they captured was young.  No, some of the older, more accomplished of our people also needed to be surrendered."

            "That was not discussed," Lillith said hastily, extremely displeased that such a decision had been made without her input, regardless of how logical the decision had been.

            "No, not with you it wasn't," Johnson agreed.  "It was the elders' impression that it was only reasonable to conclude that you'd be willing to make the same sacrifice you so readily arranged for some of our people."

            "I don't understand . . ."

            "Fe'nos tol, Lillith."

            "What do you mean?" Lillith asked quickly, her stomach lurching as a chill ran down her spine.  The only response she received was a click as the line went dead.  "Mr. Johnson?" she asked desperately.  "Are you there?"  The phone slipped from her numb grasp when she heard an echoing report of weapons that sounded suspiciously close-by.  A brief, young girl's scream followed, and Lillith knew that her nine-year-old handmaiden, Felicia, had just been cut down.

            _They couldn't have gotten in this quickly; they couldn't have gotten past all of the guards…_  She walked toward the door of her office, placing her hand on the doorknob just as a heavy thud erupted from the other side.  _They're right outside,_ she realized in horror.  The door held, but another thud followed.  And another.  And another.  A moment later the heavy wood splintered inward, and she was looking down the barrels of several assault rifles.  "But no one discussed this with me," she muttered lamely.

_To be continued………………………………_


	13. To All Good Things

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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XIII – To All Good Things 

            "I wish you would turn that off," Max complained as Alec continued to stare at the television screen.  Though she was tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe that he was capable of listening to her and Sports Center at the same time, she didn't think dividing his attention like that was appropriate when there were so many important matters to discuss.  _And he hasn't turned that damned TV off since we left Terminal City and got back to his place,_ Max thought with no lack of irritation.  _You'd think he'd get bored or something…_

            "I'll turn it off once I get the score in the Mariners game," Alec replied.

            "Seattle 7, Kansas City 4," Max told him.  "It's been on the bottom line three times since we started talking."

            "You sure?" Alec asked.

            "Trust me."

            "Well let me just catch the highlights," he suggested.  "Then I'll turn it off."

            "Might as well give up, Max," Cindy commented.  "He's gone without a TV for weeks – he's probably got lots of catching up to do.  Men and their sports . . . you know how it is."

            "Yeah, I know," Max grumbled.  "It would just be nice to get some _work_ done for once."

            "No problem," Joshua put in.  "Don't need him," he said with a dismissive wave in Alec's direction.

            "No, I'm paying attention," Alec objected, immediately muting the volume and turning away from the screen.  Max suppressed a smile at Joshua's newfound skill with reverse psychology.  _No better way to get Alec to do something than to suggest you'd be just as well without him.  And of course, it's only that much more effective coming from Joshua, since no one would really expect such subtlety from him._  She looked over the large transgenic, concluding that he was really no longer the same man he'd been at the start of the siege.  _And it's not just the language thing,_ she decided, though Joshua's habit of spending over six hours a day working on vocabulary and diction had itself completely transformed him.  _It's something deeper . . . he's confident, strong.  It's like all that passion he always used to express in his art has been focused and directed on something.  But what?_  She chased the thought away, not wanting to dwell on what she'd come to think of as Joshua's dark side.  As kind, peaceful, innocent, and naïve as he usually was, she'd also seen him become irrationally, brutally violent.  Despite his outward calm, she could still see some of that fire still dancing behind her friend's eyes.  _Ever since Annie died…_

            "Let's just leave all the boring stuff 'til the end," Alec requested.

            "The boring stuff?" Max asked.

            "You know, like figuring out who can live where and stuff like that," Alec explained.  "Let's start with something more interesting."

            "Like what?" Max responded.  "Most of what we have to do is find safe places for our people to crash.  What could be more important than that?"

            "Zack," Joshua muttered, drawing surprised stares from the other three people in the room.

            "Okay, _Zack_," Max agreed, though if she'd had her way, Zack would have been the last topic of discussion.  _Might as well do this now and get it over with,_ she decided.

            "Did you know Logan was gonna sell him out?" Alec asked with obvious irritation.

            "No."

            "That was whack, Max," Joshua grumbled.  "I mean . . . you know what I mean," he added, not bothering to express himself more eloquently, as was generally his habit.

            "McElroy and his boys already knew about Zack and Kilroy," Max explained.  "McElroy even broached the subject in one of our meetings.  He said they wanted both of them arrested and put on trial."

            "For what?" Cindy asked.  Max thought it almost funny that Cindy seemed so concerned about Zack's welfare.  _It's not like the two of them ever exactly warmed to each other._

            "Domestic terrorism," Max answered.

            "No way in hell," Alec snapped.  "This is exactly what I was afraid of, Max."

            "You agreed that we should at least take Zack out of the picture," Max shouted.  "We already discussed this."

            "I agreed that _we_ should take care of it," Alec countered.  "The transgenics.  I _never_ agreed to sell him out to the government, and don't ever try to say otherwise."  Silence reigned for several minutes as Max and Alec kept their gazes locked on each other, engaging in a contest of wills that neither one intended to lose.

            "I already agreed," Max muttered, keeping her eyes on Alec the whole time.

            "What?!" Alec roared, standing his feet quickly enough to draw Joshua a few steps closer in case he needed to separate a fight.  "You had no right!"

            "I had every right," Max growled.  "I'm the one in charge.  I'm the one everybody looks to for answers, even though when it started you knew damned well I didn't want that kind of responsibility.  Don't come to me now and bitch that you don't like the way things were done.  You could have taken over any time you wanted, Alec."

            "Hey, I'm not the one that came back from the dead," Alec pointed out.  "You think they would have followed me?"

            "_I never came back from the dead,_" Max said evenly, threateningly.  "You know that already.  You were there, Alec.  I don't **_ever_** want to hear you say that again.  Understand?"

            "Whatever," Alec said with a shrug, as if he knew that seeming casually indifferent would piss off Max far more than continuing to debate her on that issue.

            "It's already done, anyway," Max said, making certain she hid the intense guilt that had been gnawing at her since she gave in to McElroy's demands.  "They've probably already chosen and prepped a team, and I'll bet they have Zack under surveillance even now.  It's too late for him to escape."

            "You unbelievable bitch," Alec muttered, just loudly enough so that Max knew she'd been meant to hear his comment.

            "I'm gonna be with them," Max added, hoping that she could at least get Alec to understand she wanted to make sure Zack never got hurt.  _Though I don't even know why I bother at all,_ she wondered.  _It's not like Alec's opinion is all that important, is it?_

            "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be out there," Cindy commented.  "What if something bad happens?"

            "Like what?" Max asked.

            "Like you get shot in the head or something," Cindy retorted.  "You're a leader – your people need you."

            "And Zack's one of us," Max retorted.  "I _have_ to be there.  Somebody has to make sure they don't just kill him and claim it was some kind of freak accident."

            "No pun intended, right?" Alec asked grimly.  "I have to agree with OC on this, though.  You shouldn't go out there.  It's too dangerous.  I mean, what if they arrange a freak accident for you, too?"

            "Paranoid much?" Max asked.

            "Somebody's gotta be," Alec countered.  "Despite all my warnings, you end up trusting all these ordinaries.  And not just everyday, run-of-the-mill ordinaries, either.  You're out there trusting _politicians_!  How stupid is that?!"

            "Oh, so now I'm stupid?" Max asked incredulously.  "What the hell bug crawled up your ass, Alec?"

            "Shut up!!" Joshua's voice boomed.  "Both of you, shut up!  Try talking.  Normal talking."  Alec spun to face Joshua, and for a brief moment Max thought that the two of them would come to blows.  Thankfully, it never got that far.  "You're friends," Joshua reminded them both.  "This is whack.  I mean, you're both being stupid.  Shouting won't help."

            "You're right," Alec relented.  He turned from Joshua and looked once again at Max.  "And you're wrong," he added, this time far more calmly.  "At least, about going out there to help them take Zack.  I don't agree with handing him over in the first place, but it _was_ your decision to make."

            "Thanks, that means a lot," Max admitted, "even though that's probably the most half-ass apology I think I've ever heard."

            "Now that's better," Cindy commented.  "I always knew --"

            "-- Shhhh," Joshua interrupted, pointing toward the television screen.  The familiar Eyes Only logo had appeared on the screen, and in a heartbeat Max had seized the remote and turned the sound back on.

            "--- Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city."

            "You know about any big news?" Max asked Alec.  He only shook his head, keeping his eyes riveted on the screen.

            "Only days ago, Eyes Only reported to the public the existence of the leaders of two renegade transgenic groups – Zack and Kilroy.  It has come to the attention of Eyes Only that only minutes ago, the enigmatic leader calling himself Kilroy surrendered himself to authorities in Seattle."  The familiar logo disappeared, immediately replaced by a video that seemed to be shot from a rooftop across the street from Seattle's police headquarters.  As the video zoomed in, Eyes Only's voice continued the report.  "As can be seen in this video, the man claiming to be Kilroy is obviously older than any of the transgenics, and therefore is not one of them.  He is, in fact, an ordinary named Logan Cale, the nephew of deceased industrialist Jonas Cale."

            "Oh my God," Cindy muttered.  Max was aware that Alec and Joshua both said something, too, but she had no idea what it was.  It was if everything in the world had come to a screeching halt, and all she was aware of was the complete feeling of emptiness that washed over her as she stared at the black and white video of Logan walking into the police headquarters building.  Though her brain had not yet processed everything, some part of her mind was aware of the fact that everything in her life had just changed.

            _This can't be happening please let it not be him it must be a mistake what am I going to do wake up Max wake up wake up wake up._  Max's thoughts raced along as her eyes continued to watch the television screen in front of her.  She was vaguely aware that she wasn't hearing the Eyes Only report any more than she'd heard Alec and Joshua.  Reality had become a still life, and she was desperately searching for a way out of the moment.

            "Max!" she finally heard Original Cindy yell.  Max was suddenly aware that Cindy was holding her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly while gazing into her eyes, searching for some sign of recognition.  "Max?  Can you hear me?"

            "I have to go," Max mumbled.  It took several moments for her to realize that she hadn't even stood up, despite the fact that she had intended to race out of the room.  It seemed as if every fiber of her being was so shocked she was incapable of functioning.  "I…"

            "Come on," Cindy said, offering her a hand.  Max noticed that Alec and Joshua were just staring at her.  _Did I grow and extra head, or a third eye or something?_ she wondered.

            "Max," Alec said sharply.  "What about Zack?"

            "Huh?"

            "What about Zack?" Alec repeated.

            "What about him?"

            "The Black Omegas are about to take him down," Alec reminded her.  "You're supposed to be there."

            "I can't do that right now," Max responded.  "Could you call McElroy for me?  Could you let him know?"

            "I'll take care of it," Alec assured her.

            "Come on, Boo," Original Cindy said.  "Let's go."  Max allowed herself to be led from Alec's apartment, still fighting to regain her grasp of reality.  _What am I going to do now?_ she wondered.  _How can I possibly keep up the fight when my best ally – my best friend – is gone?___

-------------------------------------------------

            Several miles away, in the penthouse of Foggle Towers, Syl continued to stare at the computer keyboard in front of her, tears freely flowing down her face.  Doing an Eyes Only report had held none of the excitement she'd expected.  She doubted she'd ever welcome the role that Logan had so thoroughly and discreetly prepared her for, from having her help him prepare his reports, to sending her to meet with his sources so that they'd become familiar – and comfortable – with her.

A backhanded swat sent the camera flying across the room, and a quick slap visited the same fate upon the voice modifier that she'd used.  _To virtually everyone in the city – in the nation – it'll appear as if Eyes Only is still fine and well,_ she thought miserably.  _Only a handful of people will know that someone new has taken over, that someone who's in way over her head is trying to fill in for a great man_.

            A heavy sob escaped her chest.  _I'm all alone now,_ she reminded herself.  _Just like always, except for just a few wonderful weeks._  She tried to think of something that could comfort her, but quickly decided her attempts were less than futile.  _I don't know who it was that ever said, 'It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,' but it's a load of crap,_ Syl decided.  _Now I know exactly what it is that I'm missing.  Now I know what loneliness really is, because I'll always be cursed with the memory of what I had._

            "Enough," she growled, trying to talk herself out of her funk.  "He left this job to you, and you're gonna do it," she assured herself.  _Well, as soon as I get a new camera and voice modifier, anyway._

_To be continued………………………………_


	14. War & Death

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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XIV – War & Death 

            _"Senator, Max wanted me to call and tell you that she won't be there when your people arrest Zack,"_ Alec remembered saying to McElroy.  _"Something important came up.  She wanted me to let you know."_

            _"Are you sure?"_ McElroy had asked, sounding surprisingly disappointed by the news.

            _"Absolutely.  Besides, I doubt she could have gotten there soon enough, anyway.  Aren't you guys right on the Canadian border?"_

            _"No, Zack's place is only a bit outside Seattle.  His people are holed up in one of the old Boeing buildings."_

            _"Oh, sorry,"_ Alec had apologized.  _"I guess I was mistaken."_  That was all Alec had needed, and now he sat completely still, gazing through the nightvision scope of his Abrams sniper rifle.  _You'd think the senator would have been a little more careful with that kind of information, whether he thought I was trustworthy or not._

            He watched as almost forty Special Forces soldiers slowly advanced on one of the auxiliary buildings.  _They're patient,_ he noted, realizing that every single man and woman was crawling along just slowly enough to avoid setting off the motion detectors that he was certain were present.  _But will that be enough?_ he wondered.  Alec knew that Zack had approximately two dozen soldiers in his headquarters, and that as they were Manticore-trained Special-Ops in their own rights, it was unlikely they would be taken completely by surprise.

            Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and thirty.  The soldiers' advance was so excruciatingly slow that Alec almost didn't notice when they stopped.  _What are they up to?_

            It didn't take long to get an answer.  The far-off noise of silenced rotors alerted Alec to the fact that every soldier on the perimeter was little more than a strand in a net.  _This isn't a sneak-attack,_ he realized.  _They must know that even if they succeeded in taking down Zack and his crew, their losses would be enormous.  They're gonna give him a chance to surrender._

            As if in confirmation of his conclusion, a booming voice echoed out through the night, seeming to come from all directions.  "This is the United States military," Alec heard.  "The entire facility is surrounded.  You are completely out-manned and outgunned."  To accentuate the point, eight Apache helicopter gunships descended form the darkness above.  Any two of them were more than enough to reduce Zack's stronghold to rubble.  _And with eight of them, they might just have enough firepower to have an acceptable bargaining position,_ Alec decided with amusement.

            Alec switched his scope from starlight to infrared, watching Zack's people quickly assume defensive positions within the building.  It didn't appear that he was considering surrender.

            "You have five minutes to surrender yourselves," the voice on the loudspeaker announced.  "Should you fail to surrender in that time, we will be forced to take the building by force."  _Good luck,_ Alec thought gleefully.  _In five minutes Zack will have that place sewn up so tight you'll have no choice but to use the Apaches._

            Seconds ticked by, and neither side made any move.  Alec could tell that Zack had completed deployed his forces into defensive positions, and the Black Omegas were perfectly content where they were, as well.  _All that's left is the dyin'._

            "You have one minute remaining," the loudspeaker boomed.  _Might as well just go right now,_ Alec advised silently, deciding that an unexpected early strike might be the government's best chance at avoiding unnecessarily large losses.  _Probably the best thing for Zack to do, too._

            Then, unexpectedly, Alec caught sight of movement within Zack's building.  One figure was walking toward a large steel door that opened onto a vast parking lot.  A second figure moved to interdict, and Alec could swear he was looking at the infrared signatures of two transgenics having an argument.  Seconds started to fly by as the deadline approached, and with seven seconds remaining the first figure brushed past the second and slowly opened the door a few inches.

            "What are the terms of surrender?"  Alec's jaw dropped when he recognized Zack's voice.  _Surrender?  Zack?  What the hell…_

            "We are prepared to offer amnesty to all of your subordinates," the loudspeaker announced.

            "No conditions?"

            "They will be required to enlist in the armed forces," the government's representative explained.

            "For how long?"

            "The duration is yet be determined," the loudspeaker answered.  _Liars,_ Alec cursed silently.  _You know damn well you're gonna demand twenty years._  The second figure moved up behind Zack, and once more it appeared as if a heated debate was going on.

            "And what about Zack?" Alec heard Brin call out.

            "The transgenic leader known as Zack will be arrested," a man answered.  Now Alec could see whose voice was on the loudspeakers.  A man stood up, removing himself from the Black Omega's perimeter and advancing slowly, speaking into a radio.  _Sure he'll be arrested,_ Alec thought with a smile.  _As if._

            The intensity of the argument inside increased, and Zack appeared to make his final decision when he launched a punch directly into Brin's forehead.  She fell back several steps, and while she was out of reach, Zack stepped halfway out the door.  "Stand down," he ordered his soldiers.  Then he turned to face the Black Omegas.  "I accept your terms of surrender, providing for safety and amnesty for my people."  He walked slowly, with his hands placed behind his head.  Twenty paces from the door, he dropped to his knees, waiting for several soldiers to advance and secure him in restraints.

            _Actually, I guess I should have expected that,_ Alec decided.  _The guy was willing to attack Gillette to ensure his people's safety, and then he ate a bullet to save Maxie.  He's hard-core, but he won't do anything that'll get his people killed needlessly.  Surrender today, live to fight another day.  Always the soldier._  Despite years of suppressing any semblance of emotion and sentimentality, Alec found himself regretting that he'd never told Zack just how much he respected him.  _I honestly think he was the best of us…_

            Alec watched as the Black Omegas advanced on the X5, the once-proud leader first of an escaped squad of rogue transgenics, and later of his own private army waging a covert war against a clandestine foe.  _Two guards,_ Alec noted, getting a bead on each of them as they approached.  He moved his weapon's crosshairs over the back of each man's skull as he waited for the moment to take action.  When they reached Zack, the X5 allowed himself to be shackled, and the two guards pulled him to his feet.  _Oh well, _Alec decided.  _I guess it's time for the shooting to start._  He checked his aim one last time, and then gently pulled the trigger.  The remaining half of Zack's head hadn't even hit the pavement before the besieged transgenics opened up on the government's forces.

            The Black Omega's response was swift and decisive.  All of the Apaches opened up with everything they had, and in seconds the walls of the building were collapsing inward.  A few stragglers managed to escape the carnage, only to be incapacitated as soon as they moved into their enemies' sights.  Within five minutes it was all over, and with the loss of only one man – an ordinary – the Black Omegas had captured five of Zack's people and killed the rest.

            From his vantage point, Alec debated whether or not he should feel guilty about the outcome.  _I guess I'm the one who's responsible,_ he admitted silently, _but then again, it had to be done.  I'll never forgive myself for killing Zack and getting God only knows how many of his people killed, but I know that every single one of them would rather die than allow anyone – especially the government that's abused them for so long – ever stand in judgment over them._  Once the shooting stopped, Alec knew he had only moments remaining to make a safe escape.  It wouldn't be long before the Black Omegas determined that it wasn't one of their own people who had killed Zack.  That would lead them to the obvious conclusion that there had been someone else there.

            _Bad enough I just got so many of my people killed tonight,_ Alec decided as he ran across the pine-covered forest floor as he raced toward an access point to an old aqueduct.   _I'll be damned if I ever get caught and have to explain myself._

_To be continued………………………………_


	15. Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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XV – Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow 

            Max was hardly aware of the four guards that surrounded her – two in front and two behind – as she walked down a brightly lit, white-walled and white-tiled hallway.  They finally rounded a corner and she caught sight of a familiar face standing in front of a door at the end of the hall.  _Son of a bitch,_ she thought angrily as she focused on Set.  _What the hell is he playing at?_

            "Max," Set said formally as she and her entourage reached him.  "It's good to see you again."

            "He's in there?" Max asked, ignoring any opportunity for pleasantries.

            "That's an antechamber," Set answered.  "Logan's cell is beyond a magnetically sealed door that's inside."

            "Is he okay?" Max asked nervously.  "Has anyone hurt him?"

            "He's fine," Set assured her.  "That's why I'm here – I'm personally guaranteeing his safety as long as he's in this facility."

            "Already spend your thirty pieces of silver, did you?" Max spat.  "Figure you might as well sit around here looking important?"

            "You don't understand," Set replied evenly.  "But you will."  He fixed his cold gaze on her, his eyes piercing into hers, searching for something Max could only guess at.  "I made a promise to Logan – I won't go back on my word, no matter the cost."

            "Good for you," Max muttered.  "You should really be proud about how honorable you are.  So do I get to see him?"  Set took a deep breath, then looked at her strangely, his head tilted comically to the side.  "What, you trying to see if you can detect any bomb residue on me?" Max asked in an irritated tone.  "You think I'm gonna blow out the wall and get Logan out of here?"

            "You know that's not what I was smelling for," Set countered.  "Are you sure you'll be able to do this?"

            "I'm sure," Max said confidently, trying to draw strength from her own voice.  She knew she sounded far more certain than she actually was.  "Just let us have a little bit of time, okay?"

            "Take as much as you want," Set responded, his voice holding a hint of warmth that Max had never heard there, that she'd doubted Set was even capable of expressing.  "I volunteered for this shift, myself.  No one else will be here until 6 A.M.  The microphones and cameras are off.  No one will intrude, and nothing you say or do will be recorded to be used against Logan later."

            "Thanks," Max said wearily, her mind latching onto Set's final words.  _Used against Logan later,_ she repeated to herself.  _As in, during his trial, like anything he says can and will be used against him in a court of law._  Once again she thought of escape, of getting Logan as far from the prison as she could in as short a time as possible.  _But he wouldn't go,_ she knew.  _He surrendered himself for a reason.  I guess I could knock him out and smuggle him out of here against his will, but he'd just surrender again as soon as he had an opportunity.  I'd have to become his surrogate warden, and I just don't have the time to do that.  He'll have to stay._

            "That's all," Set said to the guards.  "No one's to come down here before the next shift."

            "Yes, sir," one of the men responded as they all turned on their heels and walked away.

            "Come with me," Set said to Max.  He opened the door to the antechamber, and then punched in a code for the mag-lock inside.  (_Access code 9-3-4-5-2-7-4-8-1-1-6,_ Max noted, though she doubted she'd be able to open the door from the inside, anyway.)  Once the door was open, she saw Logan inside, sitting on a cot, reading Martin's Storm of Swords.  He looked up at her with obvious surprise.

            "Max?"

            "You expected someone else?" she asked.

            "I didn't expect anyone at all," he responded.  "Why are you here?"

            "I'll come get you when it's time," Set muttered as he closed the door, locking the two of them in together.  Max did a quick scan of her surroundings – the same white walls and white tile as outside made the room seem larger than it was, though the room was still comparable in size to any other jail cell.  The only furnishings were a cot and a toilet.

            "Not as nice as the old place," Max commented, wondering whether her joke was appropriate.  _But what else can I say?_ she wondered.  _It's not like I have much experience meeting close friends in maximum-security federal detention centers_

            "It's good to see you," Logan muttered, closing the book and placing it on the floor as he gazed up at Max.  She saw the same fire in his eyes, the same defiance of everything he considered wrong.  "I didn't think you'd come."

            "How could you think that?"

            "Because of Syl," Logan told her.  "When you smelled her on me --"

            "You knew?" Max asked.

            "I didn't figure it out until later," Logan admitted.  "It was when Syl commented that she could smell _you_ on me."

            "So are the two of you --"

            "No," Logan assured her.  "That's not what it was between the two of us.  I'm not going to ask you to understand, and of course I know you can't ever forgive me."

            "Shut up," Max said, her voice unemotional, non-confrontational.  She wanted to talk everything over honestly, without excuses.  _We don't have time for excuses anymore._  She just wanted to know the truth, however good or bad it was.  "Don't sit there talking like you're admitting to cheating on me, because we weren't ever together," she told him.  "Those were my own words, remember?  I'm not going to blame you for acting on what I said."

            "What we said and what we felt were two completely different things," Logan replied simply.  "You and I both know that, and we both know what I did was wrong."

            "Look Logan, I don't have that much time in here," she reminded him.  "So I don't want to spend hours trying to figure out whether what you did was wrong.  I just want to know why."

            "That's actually a tough question to answer," Logan admitted.  "I've spent lots of time trying to figure that out, myself.  The short answer is that I was hurting, and Syl made me feel better."

            "Did you love her?"

            "No," Logan said immediately.  "Once in awhile I thought I did.  In fact, a couple of times I almost told her I did.  But in reality, what I really loved was the way she made me feel about myself.  You'd rejected me, Max, at a time when I really needed you.  Then, when we might have worked it out, _I_ sent _you_ away.  We'd both exerted so much effort staying apart that I wondered if it might be because you, and maybe me, too, felt that I wasn't good enough for you.  Being with Syl made me feel good about myself, like I was someone worthy of a woman's affections… a transgenic woman's affections."

            "And you doubted how I felt?" Max asked.  She wanted to scream at him, she wanted to ask him how he could have done such a thing, no matter how down on himself he'd been, but part of her understood his feelings.  She couldn't bring herself to consider Logan the only one at fault in the situation.

            "I never doubted how you felt, but I also knew we couldn't be together," Logan responded.  "I'm not asking you forgive me.  Just try to understand – I was living as Logan, Eyes Only, and Kilroy.  I had no one to help me, no one I could confide in.  You'd been everything to me for two years, but you had too much going on to ever be able to be there for me.  Syl was there."

            "So it could have been anyone?" Max asked.

            "No," Logan muttered.  "Syl also had her own issues, in so many ways like mine.  We were both alone.  We were both in pain…  I don't know how I can make this make sense."

            "Don't try," Max muttered.  "I can't even explain what I feel right now, Logan.  I'll admit that part of me wants to tear your head off; no one's ever hurt me, ever betrayed me, the way you did.  But I also know that you're in a world of trouble right now."

            "Don't remind me," he responded.

            "I don't know how many chances I'll get to speak with you again," she said.  "I don't know that we'll ever get another chance to be alone again.  I'm not going to spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn't just bite the bullet and tell you how I feel."  _Okay, here it goes,_ she told herself.  _I can't believe I'm about to do…_  "I love you, Logan," she blurted out before she'd even finished steeling her resolve.  "It feels like I always have, maybe even from that first moment you caught me breaking into your place."

            "I love you too," he whispered.

            "It figures," she said through a sob, tears welling up in her eyes, some from joy and some from misery.  "We finally come right out, and the moment's perfect, all except for the fact that you're in prison for being a domestic terrorist and you'll likely get execu…"  Before she even finished the sentence, Max had broken down into full-fledged sobs.  For several minutes she struggled to get her feelings under control, to act as if she was just as much under control as she ever was.  "Why?" she finally managed to ask.

            "Why what?"

            "Why the whole Kilroy thing?"

            "Because someone had to do it," Logan explained as he leaned back against the wall.  "Someone had to keep the Familiars off-balance, someone had to launch attacks that would help discover their secrets, and someone had to defend the safety of those transgenics that were too afraid to voluntarily go to Terminal City.  Someone had to continue Lydecker's work."

            "Zack could have done it," Max objected.  "Or I could have done it.  It was our job – it shouldn't have been you."

            "It had to be an ordinary," Logan countered.  "A private transgenic army led by an ordinary is nowhere near as frightening as a group of transgenics that gather to pursue some mysterious cause that no ordinary knows about or could ever understand.  It's all about perceptions, and that's why it had to be an ordinary.  There's no one else but me who could've done it."

            "You self-important bastard," Max griped.  "You had no right."

            "I had _every_ right," Logan responded.

            "You were supposed to serve as Eyes Only.  You were supposed to be my partner, not my rival.  And you were supposed to be there waiting for me when the wars are over, so that I have someone to go home to.  It's what I always thought about late at night – that wonderful future when you and I would finally get to settle down together."

            "That'll never happen," Logan pointed out needlessly.  "I'm sorry."

            "There's got to be a way," Max muttered.  "Maybe we can get you out of here somehow…"

            "I have to stay," Logan said calmly, sadly.  "That was the plan from the beginning, Max.  After all, like I said – it's about perceptions.  The image of an ordinary leading a transgenic army won't be too effective if no one hears about it.  The world has to find out Kilroy is an ordinary; they _all_ have to find out who Kilroy is."

            "And they have to get to put you in the electric chair?" Max asked incredulously.  "What'll that prove?"

            "It won't come to that," Logan assured her, his voice still tinged with a sorrow that confused Max.  "Don't worry, Max.  They won't execute me.  Of course, that doesn't mean we can be together, either."

            "But I love you," Max whispered lamely, wondering even as she said it why she'd felt those words would make everything better.

            "I love you, too," Logan said again.  He looked up at her, and in his eyes Max found the same, familiar warmth and security she had always treasured.  She was not altogether unexpectedly swept away by her emotions, and for the first time in her life, she allowed it to happen.

            "Show me how much you love me," she said as she half-charged across the cell, grabbing Logan's face in her hands, almost smothering him in a kiss that she tried to make last forever.

            When she thought back on everything the next morning, Max couldn't remember when their clothes had come off, or how much of the night they had actually spent making love to each other.  All she could remember for certain was that in Logan's arms she had found the comfort and solace she'd always been missing.  And that made her wonder, as she was escorted out the next morning, how there could ever be anything sweet about the sorrow of parting.

_To be continued………………………………_


	16. Confrontations & Lamentations

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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XVI – Confrontations & Lamentations 

            Alec woke with a start, gazing around his dark apartment, his eyes quickly drawn to the muted television set showing a man fighting a humanoid lizard in what appeared to be some low-budget alien world setting.  _Ooh, Star Trek,_ he thought happily.  _And this is a good one, too.  Shatner's the man!_

            "Alec," a voice called out from near the apartment's doorway.  Alec had his gun drawn and his sights set on the middle of the intruder's forehead before he even recognized Joshua.

            "Shouldn't go sneakin' up on me like that," he advised, relaxing his body back onto the couch.  "You could get hurt that way."

            "We need to talk."

            "Well then pull up a seat," Alec offered, gesturing to the recliner that sat a few feet from the couch. "You want somethin' to drink?" he added as he poured himself a glass of Jim Beam.

            "No."  Joshua hadn't moved an inch; he remained a few strides from the entrance, glaring at Alec.

            "So what's the matter?  You seem really serious tonight."  _Too serious,_ Alec decided.  _The last time Joshua was acting like this, it was because he was all pissed off about me whacking White without Max's say-so._

            "I know," Joshua stated.  Alec's stomach dropped; he knew in his heart that Joshua was referring to the assault on Zack's headquarters.

            "Know what?" he asked innocently, deciding that he would at least force Joshua to say what he knew.  _I'll be damned if I'm gonna volunteer any information.  If he knows anything, let him tell me.  Let him prove it._

            "I talked to McElroy," Joshua responded.  "He said you knew where the strike against Zack was gonna be.  He said someone from outside opened fire first."

            "Huh?"

            "Not one of the Black Omegas," Joshua clarified.  "Someone else.  Someone else shot Zack, and that made everyone wig out."

            "Is that what happened?" Alec asked, still playing the part of the innocent man, though he was certain Joshua didn't believe a word of it.  "I know almost all of Zack's people were killed, but I heard that the Black Omegas were the ones who screwed up."

            "Where you hear that?" Joshua asked, obviously knowing that Alec wouldn't be able to back up his story.  "All of Zack's people were rounded up – they haven't talked to anyone.  The Black Omegas aren't gonna say they screwed up.  So who'd you hear that from?"  Silence reigned for several minutes as Alec ran through scenario after scenario, trying to decide how to deal with the situation.

            "Fine," Alec finally muttered.  "So what?"

            "So what?!" Joshua growled.  "You killed Zack!"

            "And I say again – so what?"

            "He was one of us," Joshua replied angrily.  _Okay, maybe coming clean without anyone else around to hold back Joshua wasn't the best idea I could have had._

            "He was dead, anyway," Alec tried to explain, hoping to defuse some of his friend's ire.  "They would have tried him, found him guilty of terrorism, and they would have executed him," Alec reasoned.  "Maybe what I did wasn't the best thing, but I definitely had more right to kill Zack than anyone else did.  We're transgenics – we can take care of our problems in-house.  No reason to start dragging the government into this, Joshua.  They may have created us, and raised us, and trained us, but no matter what some people think, the government _does not_ own us.  They don't have the right to judge and execute us."

            "That's not what Max thinks."

            "Max is dreaming," Alec muttered.  "She doesn't know it yet, but she'll never see the world she's trying to create."

            "Not if her own people keep advancing their own…" his voice trailed off and his face screwed up as he searched for the right word.  "Agendas," Joshua finally spat, finding the right word to express his rage.  "How is she supposed to get anything done if you keep killing people behind her back?  First White, then Zack . . . is there anyone else?"

            "I was cleaning up her messes," Alec explained.  "Max is fighting the good old idealistic fight, and that's fine for her.  But sometimes following the rules will only let people walk all over you, Joshua.  You gotta know that."

            "You're wrong," Joshua responded stubbornly, shaking his head.  "Max is right."

            "You agreed with me that White had to die," Alec reasoned, deciding that a step-by-step explanation might help him break through Joshua's narrow-minded perception of Max's decisions.

            "That was different."

            "No it wasn't," Alec said.  "Sure, White was a bad man, and it would have been okay for _you_ to kill him for everything he did.  But that's not why _I_ killed him.  I didn't kill him because of Annie.  I didn't kill him because of what he did to me, or you, or Max, or any other transgenic.  There was nothing personal about it – it was all business.  I killed him because he was an obstacle, just like Zack was."  _And so what if I enjoyed blasting White's skull into a thousand pieces?  Nothing to say I can't find pleasure in something just because it's business._

            Joshua just stared, the wheels inside his mind clearly creaking along as he struggled to follow Alec's reasoning.  _Give him a few seconds,_ Alec told himself.  _Joshua's been around the block a few times, but he doesn't have experience betraying his friends.  This isn't something I want to rush him into._

            "An obstacle?" Joshua finally asked.

            "White was a respected federal agent," Alec explained.  "He'd been on television, he appeared before Congress.  People believed him when he said we were monsters.  As long as someone like him spoke against us, supported not only by his authority as a law enforcement officer but also by supposed years of experience dealing with us, no one would ever believe we were on the level."

            "On the level…"

            "They wouldn't think we were being honest," Alec clarified.  "Besides, White knew too much about us.  He could exploit weaknesses no one else knew about.  He had to be eliminated.  The fact that he was an evil son of a bitch just cleared up any moral ambiguity in my decision."  Joshua stood motionlessly, pondering Alec's words.

            "And Zack?"  He was obviously challenging Alec to come up with some kind of plausible explanation for visiting on a transgenic the same fate he'd given one of their greatest enemies.

            "He was a good man," Alec admitted, "and I wish he could have seen the end of this with the rest of us; but that's not what he wanted."

            "Huh?"

            "Zack _wanted_ to be a martyr," Alec argued.  "He was all about the cause.  Just like he would have died for Max after the attack on Gillette, he wanted to die rather than be taken alive when the time finally came.  Remember who Zack was – he risked everything to flee Manticore when he was just a kid.  He put his life on the line every time one of us was in danger.  Prison would have killed him, Joshua.  He would have preferred death.  Besides, he would have _really_ hated being put on trial, letting the government and the ordinaries think they have some kind of power over us.  You understand?"

            "I understand," Joshua said with a sigh.  "I understand that you're out of control.  Maybe you're right about Zack . . . but it wasn't your decision to make.  Right or wrong, Max's orders are all we have to guide us.  It's over for you."

            "Huh?" Alec muttered.  He didn't like the unmistakable finality in his friend's voice.  "You're gonna tell Max?"  His mind raced along as he sought a solution to this problem, a way to squirm out of yet another uncomfortable predicament.  _Tell Max?_ he asked himself.  _What the hell is wrong with me?  I fear the worst, and the most terrible thing that comes to mind is Max finding out what I've done?  What the hell ever happened to Joshua killing me himself, here and now, as the worst thing?_  "Let me tell her," he offered before he'd even thought the idea through.  "I'll do it myself."  Joshua seemed to consider the proposal, but Alec could tell his friend was not too comfortable with the idea.

            "I don't know…"

            "Just give me twenty-four hours," Alec responded.  "I know this is something you want her to know soon . . . I can understand that.  So just give me twenty-four hours to tell her, k?  If I don't say anything by then, you can tell her yourself."  Joshua was still remaining silent, still thinking it over.  _I better keep talking,_ Alec decided.  _As long as I'm talking I'll be okay._  "Just give me 'til tomorrow night, after the press conference.  Is that so much to ask?"

            "No, I guess not," Joshua said far too quickly.  _He feels guilty about being the bad guy in this,_ Alec decided.  _He doesn't want to be the one to have to tell Max.  Maybe that'll give me some room to maneuver a little bit._

            "Thanks," Alec replied grimly.  "I owe you one."

            "Just tell her," Joshua grumbled.  "I don't want anything from you.  Just tell Max what you did.  Tell her you killed one of her best friends."  Alec shuddered at the words, the uncharacteristic cruelty in Joshua's voice, but before he could say anything in response, Joshua had already turned to leave.  Alec gladly let him go without saying another word.

            _Oh, sure . . .I'll tell Max,_ he thought miserably once he was alone again.  _I can hear it now.  "Gee, how's it goin' Max?  Nice day, huh?  Good to actually see the sun for once.  Oh, and by the way, you remember Zack?  You know – the guy who led you to freedom from Manticore, who swooped in to save your ass so many times in the past couple of years, who loved you so much that he blew his own brains out so that you'd have a chance to live?  Yeah, well… I killed him the other night.  Yep, got most of his soldiers killed, too.  How's that for efficient – one bullet and I got two dozen transgenics whacked.  You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin'?"_

_            Yeah, that would work out just fine._  In one fluid, practiced motion, Alec gulped down the rest of the Beam in his glass and quickly refilled it, enjoying the warmth that spread down his throat and into his stomach.  _There's gotta be a way to sugarcoat it somehow,_ Alec mused.  He turned the facts over in his head time and time again, only to continually reach the same conclusion – _there's no way in hell I can sugarcoat this.  I'm screwed.  I'm **so** screwed._

_            But am I really out of control?_  That was a question he'd purposely been avoiding, the one question that had plagued him every moment of every day, ever since he'd first learned about Ben.  _Nature or nurture?  Which one was it that drove him crazy?  Was he just hard-wired to flip out and become a serial killer, or did life put so much pressure on him that he finally snapped?  Or was it maybe a combination of the two?  Was he walking a fine line until he was placed under too much stress?  Was it anything like the stress I'm facing now?  Am I going to end up going crazy?  Have I already gotten there?  And if I haven't, do I have any chance of avoiding it?_  "Stop!" he yelled at himself.  "Stop obsessing about it!"

            Alec drained and topped off the glass again, his eyes already starting to drift toward the kitchen, where an unopened bottle of bourbon was promising to keep him comfortably inebriated through the night, freeing him from the specter of introspection.  _Don't dwell on all that stuff,_ he told himself.  _There're far more important things to worry about right now – like how I'm gonna deal with the whole Zack thing.  I'm so screwed,_ he concluded once more, his stomach bottoming out as he reached that uncomfortable conclusion.  _And of course, I deserve to be screwed,_ he decided.  _I **did** kill Zack.  I **did** get his people all but wiped out.  It's all my fault, and Max **shouldn't** ever forgive me for what I did.  Right or wrong, I was wrong.  She's never gonna forgive me.  Hell, she'll never even understand why I did it, why it was even necessary, or how it'll help us in the long-term._

            Alec planted his face in his hands, rubbing his temples to try to ease the confusion that was plaguing his mind.  _And if I can't ever get her to understand, and if I can't get her to forgive me, why the hell should I even bother telling her?_ he wondered.  _What do I have to gain by even trying to explain why I did what I did?_  His eyes darted around the room as he took a mental inventory of everything he had that could easily be carried.  _Oh, to hell with it all,_ he finally decided.  _Just a year ago I didn't own anything more than the clothes on my back.  I did all right for myself quickly enough, and I can do it again.  I'll just leave._

            Even as he made his decision, though, he began to reconsider.  _But what about Max?_ he wondered.  _Who's gonna watch her six?  Who's gonna take care of her?  And just when the hell did that become so important?_ he asked himself.  _Jeez, I'm **so** pathetic._

            "I've _so_ gotta get outta Dodge," he muttered.  _And leave all this behind?_ he asked himself.  As if to answer his own question, he scanned the apartment again, looking for something – anything – that could convince him he was better off staying.  _No, nothing here,_ he reminded himself.  _It's Max.  You can't leave her._

            "No," he told himself firmly.  "I'm not even going down that road again.  We're not like that.  We're not that way."  He smiled despite himself, amused at how much his denials reminded him of the way Max always sounded when she talked about her relationship with Logan.  _Yeah, sure . . . she and robo-boy aren't like that.  And you don't feel that way about her, either._  "But I can't stay," he told himself.  "Whether I want to or not, it's too late to even think about it."  _Joshua knows, and he's gonna tell Max.  Once she knows, she'll never speak to you again, regardless of how you feel about her.  And that's if she doesn't rip your head off just on principle._

            "I have to leave," he decided.  "I'm done in Seattle.  No sense staying even farther beyond my welcome."  _I guess I have twenty-four hours to leave,_ he decided.  _After that, Joshua's gonna tell Max everything.  Twenty-four hours…_  Alec thought it all through, and decided that he would leave right after the press conference.  _I'll stand with her as she gets her formal introduction to the world.  After that, she'll have all the help she'll need…  She won't need me anymore after tomorrow, anyway._

_To be continued………………………………_


	17. Meet the Press

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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XVII – Meet the Press 

            Through a large, ornate skylight, Max watched uneasily as one of two black military helicopters passed overhead, continuing its ceaseless patrol of the streets and surrounding buildings.  _How exactly did I get myself into this?_ she wondered, glancing first left, to Joshua, and then right, to Alec.  _If I didn't know better I'd think something's up between the two of them,_ she decided.  Neither one seemed at all interested in the existence of the other, and she'd noticed that they hadn't so much as nodded a hello to each other when they arrived.

            _This isn't the time to worry about that,_ she reminded herself.  _I have to keep my head in the game._

            "Are you all ready?" she heard Senator McElroy's voice ask from behind her.

            "As ready as I'll ever be," Max answered, not bothering to turn around.  As much help as McElroy had been, Max was quickly growing tired of feeling like a sideshow – the honorable transgenic leader McElroy trotted out every time he needed to grab the attention of a throng of voters.  _But a deal's a deal,_ Max lamented.  _He upheld his end – he got us out of Terminal City and back into the world.  I won't renege now.  I said I'd help him get elected, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do._

            A marching band started playing outside (the state theme of Washington, Max noted), and the doors were opened from the outside, allowing a shaft of gray light to surround the four individuals.  Max emerged first, walking up to the podium with Joshua remaining on her left and Alec staying on her right.  Senator McElroy, for his part, did a perfect job of remaining a respectful distance behind while still assuring that every television camera present would keep him in frame.

            "Good afternoo--," Max started, stifling a curse as her voice cracked.  She cleared her throat, feigning a slight cough and a bottomless well of confidence, and then began again.  "Good afternoon," she said with her most ingratiating smile, the smile that had won over Logan's affection (and Normal's forgiveness every time she blew off a run).  "I'm sure many of you have seen my face on television," she continued, "whether it was while I attempted to open a dialogue with National Guard troops, or when I commandeered a Seattle police hoverdrone and made it my own personal floating skateboard."  She morphed the smile into her own trademark mischievous grin at that last bit, hoping it would help her audience accept her attempt at humor.  From the friendly, accepting faces at the front of the gathered crowd, she felt she was thus far succeeding admirably.

            "Before I really get started, let me introduce a few of my friends, my trusted associates," she continued.  "All of you, of course, know Senator McElroy," she said with a flourish of her hand, indicating the suddenly very humble-looking politician behind her.  "You all know the role he played in assisting my people, and I'll never really be able to thank him properly.  Let me just say that without his help, I would very likely not be here speaking with you today.  The same can be said for my two friends, Alec and Joshua."  She pointed to each of them as she mentioned their names, making certain she kept smiling, just as McElroy had told her.  _Psychological studies show time and again that people react favorably to a smile,_ he'd told her.  _Never stop smiling up there._

            "Both of these men spent their entire lives at Manticore.  Both of them have, since the destruction of the Gillette facility, devoted all their energy to assisting me in gaining freedom for our people.  And please, don't let their appearances fool you," she said as she expanded the grin that was already beginning to grate on her nerves.  "You might not guess it by looking at them, but Joshua is the nice guy out of the two."  A few chuckles came from the audience, and Max dared to think she might have some iota of skill at public speaking.  Then Joshua fell over, violently knocked to the ground.  Several of the Secret Service guards were likewise sent to the pavement as gunfire erupted around the dais.

            "Get down!" Alec yelled as he tackled Max down behind the podium.  "Snipers!"  Max's first thought was to retreat back the way they came, to find safety inside the courthouse, but a quick glance toward an agent struggling to pull the doors open clued her in quickly – their retreat had been cut off from someone inside.  _It's a set-up,_ she realized.  Her first suspect was McElroy, but he was already hard at work wrapping his tie around his leg behind a few steel chairs, trying desperately to bind a gunshot wound as he visibly grew several shades grayer.  _Okay, probably not him,_ Max decided.

            "Bring the limo around!" one of the Secret Service agents yelled into his radio.  A moment later the left side of his head exploded as a sniper's bullet found its mark.

            "Joshua, are you okay?" Max yelled.  The large transgenic was lying out in the open, a prime target for any sniper that wanted to fire a few more shots into him to make sure the job was finished.

            "Where are they?" Alec yelled into a radio that he'd grabbed off of one of the agents' bodies.  "Give me a target!"  He snatched the man's pistol and quickly loaded the chamber, surreptitiously scanning the surrounding rooftops for their attackers.  _Not that he's likely to hit anything from this range with a 9mm,_ Max cursed.  For the briefest of moments Max recalled McElroy's earlier advice.  _I wonder if I'm allowed to stop smiling **now**_, she mused, immediately shocked that such a thing occurred to her while her entire world was crashing in around her.

            People from the audience were running around, screaming in panic as some were shot, blood spraying across the survivors as they sought some kind of cover.  The squeal of tires began to drown out the screams, and soon the thrum of helicopter blades and the thunderous reports of M240 machine guns joined the cacophony.  Max dared to poke her head out a little and immediately saw her limousine race up the block and come to a screeching halt at the bottom of the courthouse stairs.

            "Not yet," Alec told her as he continued to search for a target.  The sharp, deafening crackle of his weapon drowned out something else he said as he emptied the clip in the direction of a window across the street.  "I think I got 'im," he yelled as he pulled Max to her feet.  "Let's go!"

            "What about Joshua?!" Max screamed over the deafening bedlam.  She wanted to help her friend, but she noted with some surprise that she wasn't giving Alec much of a fight about being led toward the limousine.  And safety.

            "I'll go back for him," Alec growled as he continued dragging Max toward the limo.  "You have to get out of here, though.  Now!"

            "But --"

            "No buts; I'm not gonna let anything bad ever happen to you!" Alec screamed as they reached the vehicle.  He pulled the door open and half-threw Max inside just as another volley of gunfire erupted from the surrounding buildings.  "Max?" Alec suddenly asked weakly.  A glazed-over look of surprise passed across his eyes, and Max found herself unable to look away from the blood that was spraying from Alec's neck.  His surprise faded instantly and was replaced by a comical smile, punctuated by a forced chuckle that brought blood bubbling from between his lips.  "You'll never know," he gasped as his body crumpled to the asphalt, a crimson torrent gushing from several gaping wounds in his back.

            "Alec!" Max screamed.  Before she could get out of the vehicle, though, a surprisingly firm grip locked onto her shoulder, pulling back inside.  Her eyes immediately adjusted to the comparative darkness within, and her surprise made her oblivious to the constant tinging of bullets ricocheting off the armored exterior of the limousine.

            "You!" Max gasped, her gaze drawn to the handgun that was being leveled at her.  Before she could even make a move to defend herself, though, a bright flash lit up the inside of the vehicle as the weapon was fired.

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            _Don't move, don't move, don't move._  The thought raced through Joshua's head as he tried to think of something he could do.  Though his eyes were closed, he could tell that the scene was pandemonium – his ears let him know that much.  Gunshots blazed away while people screamed, ran, and died.  _Don't move,_ he reminded himself.  He knew he was out in the open, a sitting duck if any of the countless snipers decided to he merited a few more bullets.  _Don't know how much more I can take,_ he admitted to himself.  His left arm was numb up to the shoulder, which was burning and wet.  _That's one wound._  He also had trouble breathing, and felt a burning, throbbing pain in the right side of his chest.  _And that's another one._  Confident that he's only been shot twice, and that he was lucky enough not to have taken any immediately serious wounds, Joshua thanked his lucky stars that he at least hadn't been hit in the legs.  _I'll need them to haul ass outta here._

            "Joshua, are you okay?" he heard Max scream at him.  She sounded surprisingly calm, despite the chaos around them, and it was all Joshua could do to resist the temptation to assure her he was fine.  He didn't want to give her any reasons to start losing it.  _Don't move,_ he reminded himself again.  _And don't speak.  Don't draw attention to yourself._

            "Where are they?" Alec was yelling.  A few moments later, Joshua heard someone fire through an entire 18-round magazine.  _Guess he found them,_ he decided.  A squeal of tires and the deafening drum of helicopters drowned out most everything else, but Joshua was certain he heard Alec yell, "Let's go."

            Joshua dared to open his eyes, and seeing no immediate threats, he slowly sat up.  He saw Alec and Max beside the limousine, and then he saw Alec get shot several times.  "No!" the large transgenic bellowed, dragging his body to its feet.  Gone were any concerns about Alec's betrayal; all that mattered was saving his friend, getting him to a hospital so that he would be okay.

            No sooner had he stood than his right leg was taken out from underneath him.  _No!_ Joshua silently screamed.  The indescribable, piercing agony that shot through his body was nothing compared to the knowledge that getting shot in the kneecap would inevitably slow him down.  _I have to get to Alec,_ he told himself.  _No pain, no pain, no pain._  He summoned all of his resolve as he fought to his feet once more.  _Why is the limo still there?_

            "Leave!" he screamed at the darkly shaded driver's window.  "Get Max out of here!"  Joshua struggled with his first step, and then dragged his blasted right leg behind, willing his body to walk despite its injuries.  _No pain, no pain, no pain._

            He had only gone ten feet when a high-pitched whistling erupted in his ear.  Instinct was the only thing that saved him as he dove to his right, landing awkwardly on his wounded leg as an RPG slammed into the limousine.  The vehicle withstood the brunt of the blast, although the television antenna attached to the trunk was blown off and passed directly over Joshua's body, whizzing through the air where his head had been only a fraction of a second earlier.

            "Leave," he muttered to the limousine driver as he stood again, refusing to pass out from the pain as he continued to fight toward his friends.

            A second projectile flew through the air, and this time the limousine proved no match as an M-47 Dragon anti-tank missile slammed into the hood of the vehicle.  The shockwave of the explosion tossed Joshua fifteen feet into the air, landing him back on the dais.  He rose again, his eyes immediately drawn to the rear door as it opened and Max leaped out.  She ran quickly into the street, her clothes burning with fire that melted her long hair and had her screaming in agony.  Her voice was then cut off as several more gunshots rang out, knocking her from her feet and sending her sprawling to the ground, the orange-red flames continuing to lick at her body.

            _No!_  The scream was silent to all but Joshua as he struggled forward, removing the ill-fitting sportsjacket the senator had given him.  He collapsed at Max's side, throwing the jacket over her body, smothering the flames.  "Max," he whispered weakly.  "Can you hear me?"  _She can't be dead,_ he told himself.  _She can't die.  She didn't die at Megiddo; she won't die here.  She'll come back._  Despite his hopes, there was no movement forthcoming from his friend.  _Alec,_ he remembered, turning again to the only other X5 he'd ever trusted.  Just as he looked, however, the limousine's fuel tank exploded.  Joshua turned just in time to see Alec's body incinerated in the blast.

            "Help," he gasped weakly.  He couldn't hear any more gunshots, or screaming, or helicopters, or sirens.  Silence deafened him as he searched for a reason to disbelieve everything that was happening around him.  He turned back to Max, gazed at her terribly burned body.  He noticed her eyes were still open, pain evident in the silent scream that stretched her agonized expression.  He went to close her eyelids, but they turned to dust at his touch.  "Help," he said again, just as unconsciousness finally overcame him.

_To be continued………………………………_

**Author's Endnote:** I just love using a nice banal title like 'Meet the Press' for a chapter that has major, unexpected events.  I think it helps lull the reader into suspecting that it's just another slow plot-development chapter, and then WHAM!  Now, of course, I suffer the fallout…


	18. Jihad

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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**Author's Note: Apparently I'm twisted… Yep, I can live with that.  Thanks for all the feedback to that last chapter.  I haven't seen that many reviews for a single chapter in a very, very long time.**

Anyway, thanks to **Moonbeam** for the work she did beta reading McElroy's speech in this chapter.  As with Ashton's speech, her input was greatly appreciated and extremely helpful.  Even though she couldn't refrain from making comments about 'the travesty of Chapter 17.'  :)

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XVIII – Jihad 

            The first thing Max realized was that she'd been drugged.  _Heavily,_ she decided.  Her mind was swimming, and all of her senses seemed dulled, sluggish.  It was only moments later that she realized she was tied up.  _And I'm sitting upright,_ she decided.  _Legs are tied together and fastened to the left chair leg, down at the feet and again at mid-calf.  Wrists are tied together, too.  And my hands are covered and tied behind my back…_  She tried to figure out what was on her hands, and her stomach sunk when she realized.  _Mittens.  Damnit._  She kept her eyes closed, focusing on her other four senses as she tried to figure out where she was.  _And how I got here.  What happened…_

            "Just in time," she heard a familiar voice say.  "I was wondering if you'd ever wake up."  _Set.  Shoulda known he was involved somehow._  Max knew there was no point in pretending she was asleep.  The X5 could hear her heartbeat and breathing rate – both had sped up as she awakened.

            "Where am I?" she asked groggily as she opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings.  She saw she was in a windowless room with bare, cinderblock walls.  _Probably a basement._

            "You're safe," Set answered.  "Do you really need to know any more than that?"

            "What did you give me?  Why is everything so hazy?"

            "Calm down," Set replied as he approached slowly, lifting her eyelids and gazing at each of her pupils.  "It was just a sedative.  It should be completely out of your system very soon."

            "Why am I tied up?"

            "So that I'd know where you are," Set told her.  "So that you couldn't leave before we had a chance to talk."

            "About what?"

            "Not yet," Set chided.  "There's about to be an important speech.  I don't want to miss it."  Three long strides brought him to a small, black and white television.  He turned the knob, and Max was immediately presented with the sight of Senator McElroy limping up behind a podium.  He took a few moments to steady himself, and then took in his audience in a grand, sweeping gaze, already looking very much the part of a president.

            "I address you tonight not as a senator of the United States, and not as a candidate for president of this great nation, but as a fellow citizen of humanity," McElroy began gravely.  "My fellow Americans . . . my fellow human beings . . . it has now been several weeks since the United States began waging war against its enemies – those parasitic cultists who have devoted their entire existence to achieving the extinction of mankind; of every normal, true-bred human, along with our courageous transgenic allies who have placed their own lives in the balance by joining with us.  We have had some early success, but recent events – including the tragic assault at the Seattle courthouse – prove that we must remain vigilant, aware not only of the fact that this conflict will go on for a long time, but also that we cannot afford to fail.  Should just a few of these Familiars escape justice, should just one couple survive to breed and carry on their tradition of terror, all of mankind may be doomed."

            "What did he mean?" Max asked, latching on to the reference to the Seattle courthouse.  _Gunfire.  Blood.  Death._  It all started coming back to her, memories teasing her from the drug-induced haze of her mind.

            "Quiet," Set reprimanded.  "I'll explain it all after he's done."

            The senator stopped momentarily, a pause so well practiced as to appear natural.  His grim expression melted away as his brow furrowed slightly, suddenly casting a calm, thoughtful demeanor over his face. "It is almost impossible to even fathom the magnitude of our struggle," McElroy continued.  "We must locate and defeat a few thousand individuals in a world of over six billion.  Our enemies are not simply the proverbial needles in a haystack – they're straws of hay hidden in a haystack.  Our greatest obstacle has been in identifying men and women who, though they are different, look exactly like the rest of us.  How does one even hope to find a few thousand particular straws from a stack of six-billion?"  Once again, in a heartbeat, McElroy's mood changed, this time from calmly thoughtful to unabashedly skeptical.  The skepticism did not last long, though.  Before he even continued, the senator developed a new expression – confidence.  "Our scientists, working side by side with transgenic researchers, believe they have found an answer.

            "Not long ago, the Familiars attempted to release into the world a toxin that would have wiped out every man, woman, and child who had not been born into their perverse cult.  The Familiars were protected by virtue of having spent millennia developing an inherent immunity to this toxin.  What they never considered, however, is the antitoxin that their bodies produce is controlled by a gene that is not present in any ordinary.  We have the technology to test every single human in the world, to identify those that have this gene, to smoke out our foes so that they may be brought to justice."

            "Yeah, mob justice," Max grumbled.

            "Shhh--" Set reprimanded again.

            "President Ashton has already prepared a proposal to bring to Geneva, to present to the United Nations.  Within a year, we hope to start a global testing program that will help ensure the genetic integrity and purity of every true-bred human in the world.  We will identify, isolate, and annihilate the Familiars before they can unleash another doomsday, before they can infiltrate us any further.

            "Infiltration . . . it's a terrifying concept.  It allows our enemies to walk amongst us, to gain positions of authority and influence, to control our words, thoughts, and actions without our knowledge.  Infiltration allows Familiars to be the doctors who administer drugs to us, the lawmakers who set up the rules that govern us, the police and soldiers who protect us, and even the teachers who help shape the minds of our children.

            "Rest assured, despite the nay-saying of those skeptical few who foolishly continue to assert that the Familiars are not – and could not possibly be – real, this is not some paranoid fantasy.  As just one example, I present evidence of Special Agent Ames White.  Some of you may recognize the name – he was present at certain congressional hearings investigating the facts behind the Manticore Project.  He was killed not long ago, and using the very same genetic testing to which I have referred, we have been able to determine that Ames White was not a human at all.  He was a member of this cult; he had worked his way up through the ranks of _our_ society, using his position as a means to disrupt and destroy the Manticore Project and the transgenics it produced – the very same transgenics who have sworn themselves to our cause.

            "Failing to destroy Manticore from within, Agent White took advantage of the trust the public placed in him, using his respected position of authority to deceive us as he made very public comments intended to incite panic.  He clearly misjudged us.  Gone are the days when an unenlightened populace could be inspired to give in to senseless paranoia, to embark on witch-hunts, to persecute those who are different solely for the unforgivable crime of _being_ different."  McElroy paused again, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, obviously favoring his left leg – the one in which he'd taken a bullet standing against the Familiars' cause.  _Subtle,_ Max noted.  _I'll bet he's been waiting his whole life to make this speech._

            "I believe Agent White's manipulative kin will find us to be far more formidable a foe than they ever expected," McElroy continued, his voice growing stronger, more defiant.  "We are not sheep; we will not be peacefully led to slaughter, and we will likewise never allow our intelligence to be clouded by irrational terror.  We can see, we can reason, and we can tell our friends from our foes.  Despite the cultists' deceptive propaganda, despite potentially misleading outward appearances, we know that the transgenics are our allies, and the Familiars are our nemeses.

            "We will stand together with our friends, the transgenics.  Many of them may look different than us on the outside, but on the inside they possess the same compassion, valor, and love for independence and equality that is the birthright of every _natural_ human.  It is the Familiars, all cunningly bred to look just like us, so that they could better beguile us, that possess hearts harboring only contempt for humanity and the desire for dominion over this world.  They _must_ be stopped before they succeed in their goal of wiping out all who oppose them.

            "All races, creeds, and colors must now come together to pursue our enemies to the end of the Earth – across oceans and continents, on mountaintops and in caves, in cities and rolling countryside, in deserts and jungles," he roared, pounding his fist on the podium to emphasize his points.  _He sure knows how to work a room,_ Max admitted as the television cameras momentarily broke away from McElroy and panned across the audience, every member of which seemed to be in a rabid frenzy of support for the senator.  "We will hunt down these abominations, and we will deal with them before they can succeed in their crusade to destroy us.  We will emerge from the conflict stronger than before, secure in the knowledge that the greater species has survived and inherited this fine Earth.  Thank you, and God bless."  _Bastard just started a holy war_, Max fumed as McElroy staggered away from the podium, thunderous applause praising his defiance of humanity's enemies, and exalting in his assurances of victory.

            "So that's your boy," Max commented as Set turned to shut off the television, temporarily delaying any of her more pressing questions.  _Yeah, like where the hell I am,_ she thought angrily.

            "My boy?" Set asked with a grin.  "I hardly think so.  Senator McElroy is his own man.  I'm simply one of the little people that've been swept up on his coattails as he leads the way into the future."

            "He may be leading the way, but I suspect you're the one that gave him the map," Max muttered caustically.

            "Perhaps," Set admitted.  "I may have offered some occasional guidance, but I prefer to think of my role as being an associate, a willing ally in the quest for peace."

            "Please… shoot me before I drown in the bullshit," Max replied, ignoring a slight wave of nausea that she assumed was caused by whatever sedative her captor had used.  "I always knew you were up to something, Set.  I just never knew what it was."

            "I'm simply following orders," Set answered.

            "Lydecker?" Max asked.

            "He knew more than anyone else," Set responded with a nod.  "He was in a position to anticipate the actions of our enemies."

            "How?"

            "I assume you've heard of Revelation," Set said.  "The last book in the Bible."

            "Yeah, I've heard of it," Max grumbled.  _Great, here I thought Set was simply an average, run-of-the-mill psychopath, when in actuality he's a deluded religious fanatic psychopath._

            "Do you know who wrote it?"

            "Some guy," Max replied flippantly.  "What does it matter?"

            "It wasn't just _some guy,_" Set shot back.  "It was a seer.  A prophet."

            "So they say," Max muttered coolly.  "If you wanna believe in that stuff, then go ahead."

            "You don't believe?" Set asked, an annoying, amused tone suddenly creeping into his voice.

            "In God?  In prophecy?  Are you kidding?  We were created in test tubes, Set," Max reminded her sibling.  "We weren't born of two humans – we were assembled from the genes of no fewer than a dozen species.  Not that I really want to get into a theological debate or anything, but I don't see why I should have any interest in a God that the ordinaries say cares only about _them_."

            "I'm not interested in your feelings about religion," Set responded.  "I want to know what you think about prophecy."

            "I'll believe it when I see it."

            "You've already witnessed telepathy," Set reminded her.  "Even Manticore was able to stir up telepaths among its various genetic cocktails.  And you've also seen telekinesis, haven't you?"

            "Yeah," Max admitted, remembering a Familiar child that had tossed her around with some kind of mental ability.

            "So why are you skeptical about precognition?"

            "Huh?"

            "Don't refer to it as prophecy," Set clarified.  "Call it precognition, if you prefer.  It's a more scientific word, it has a more banal connotation.  The Familiars have bred telekinetics, why would you dismiss the idea of them successfully producing precogs?"

            "Wait a second, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

            "I'm only saying what the colonel suspected – that the unidentified man known only as John, the man who wrote the Book of Revelation, was in fact a Familiar who was banished to the island of Patmos.  Colonel Lydecker believed that John committed the unforgivable heresy of abandoning his cult's beliefs in favor of Christianity.  As a result, despite his value as a seer, he was exiled to Patmos, where he had his visions."

            "You have evidence of this?" Max asked dubiously.

            "Not exactly," Set admitted.  "There's a lot of circumstantial evidence, and Lydecker had to fill in a lot of blank spaces in the story.  Once he found out about Megiddo and the Well of the Seas, he concluded that he had little option but to at least consider the possibility that Revelation was accurate.  His opinion was that there was too much risk in disregarding theological prophecy just because his twenty-first century rationalism demanded he view organized religion as fantasy, Marx's opiate for the masses."

            "Doesn't sound like Deck," Max commented.

            "It made sense, though," Set continued.  "Look at some of the elements that are present – the battle at Armageddon, worldwide pestilence, the annihilation of the unfaithful – it all matched up to some of the Mediterranean region's earliest apocalypse stories, almost all of which Lydecker had already concluded referred to the Manticore Cult.  He told you that much back in Israel.  Revelation's only real addition was the inclusion of certain Christian images, all of which can be attributed to the author's conversion to Christianity.  As crazy as it sounds, Revelation was a handbook on what the Familiars were planning . . . and how they could – and would – be defeated.  All that's needed is to know how to read between the lines."

            "And I suppose you know?"

            "No."  The word was spoken with such disgust, such disappointment, that Max couldn't help but feel some degree of sympathy for Set, despite the fact that he had taken her hostage.  "All I have to go on is Lydecker's notes, and one of the first things he wrote was that he knew his interpretations were little more than guesses based on current intelligence.  He expected to have to reinterpret on a constant basis, to match up current events to the admittedly obscure images used in the scripture.  I'm a soldier, a terrorist, an assassin – I don't know a damn thing about interpreting religious text."

            "Then why bother?" Max asked.  "We know who our enemies are.  We have them on the run now.  Why continue to build our efforts around obscure, two-thousand-year-old prophecies that we don't understand… that we don't have the training or insight to _ever_ understand?"

            "Because those were the colonel's orders," Set answered immediately.  "He was very clear about the need to refer to Revelation to better anticipate our enemies' next move."

_            Great, he's following the orders of a dead man.  Exactly how am I supposed to talk some sense into him?_  "I find it hard to believe that Deck would have made covertly advancing the career of a politician an integral part of the plan," Max said, deciding that a more indirect approach might be wiser.  _Discredit other parts of his plans, and it might be easier to discredit the orders regarding Revelation, too._

            "He had his reasons – rather obvious reasons, I'm sure you now see – for playing the political card," Set explained, making it clear that supporting McElroy – or at least any senator that stepped up to the plate the way he did – was part of Lydecker's scheme.  "The colonel wanted us to be free.  He wanted us to be able to build lives for ourselves."

            "He wanted us to be the best little soldiers we could be," Max countered, "and he spent countless hours coming up with new and interesting ways to motivate us.  I can't believe you've forgotten what that man was like, no matter how penitent he felt at the end."

            "He knew most of us would just reenlist anyway," Set responded with a knowing smile that made Max try all the harder to free herself from her bonds.  _I wanna wring his neck._  "The colonel raised us to be soldiers, and that's not something that would change overnight, if at all.  I just had to find a politician who would let us have what we wanted.  It wasn't that hard."

            "Out of curiosity, at exactly what point did Deck order you to take me hostage?"

            "It's not that simple, really," Set said, his demeanor changing in a flash.  For the briefest of moments Max thought she saw sorrow, regret.  It vanished in an instant, though.  "You're not being held captive, Max."

            "I beg to differ on that."

            "I've simply taken measures to ensure your participation in a rather uncomfortable conversation," Set told her.  "You see, Max, as public a figure as you were, no one knows that you've been abducted."

            "Excuse me?  How exactly did you pull that off?"

            "The entire world is under the impression that you're dead, cut down by the Familiars as retribution for openly joining the cause of the ordinaries."  Max's heart sank at the words.  _The attack on the courthouse steps, the gunshots, the limo…_  All of the blank spaces in her memory started to fill in, and Max shuddered at the answers she found.  "You see, Max, the entire press conference was a set-up.  You had to die; you had to be martyred."

            "Huh?  No…"

            "You're a messiah, Max, and our people will never be free as long as you're alive," Set explained.  "Transgenics were designed, created, and trained to be followers, and they've chosen to follow you.  A cult of personality has developed around you, and that'll keep every transgenic's attention riveted on you, on your decisions, on your guidance.  They'll never learn the tough life lessons that you and your fellow escapees had to learn for yourselves so many years ago.  They need to be free, they need to learn to think and live for themselves.  That couldn't happen with you looking over their shoulders; no more than Christians could be free until Jesus died, or Muslims could be free until Muhammad died, or Jews could be free until Moses left them before entering the Promised Land.

            "Besides, martyring you will make you as much a hero to the ordinaries as you've been to the transgenics.  Humans love heroes, Max; they need them, they idolize them.  Giving them a transgenic hero will strengthen the bond between us and make it less likely that they'll turn on us once the Familiars have been defeated."  Max could see where Set was going, and tried as best she could not to think about it.

            _I don't want to admit yet that he might actually be right… that I really should die._  "You know, I hate to be the one to tell ya, but if your goal was to kill me, you haven't done a real bang-up job," she commented sarcastically.

            "I did well enough," Set answered, his annoying grin returning.  "You see, Max, only seconds after you reached the safety of the limousine, the vehicle was hit by an anti-tank rocket.  It blew up.  Horribly, you escaped the initial explosion, only to leap from the blazing wreckage and walk far enough for the six-o'clock news to film your body being consumed by fire.  One of my snipers also put a couple of extra bullets in you, just for good measure.  It was heart-wrenching… it was tragic."

            "Huh?  What are you talking about?"

            "Don't you remember getting into the limo?"  Max thought back, chasing away the fog in her mind, trying to grasp the few fragments of memory that still evaded her, like dreams in the light of day.

            "Ashley… Sam… Whatever her name is now," Max muttered.

            "Actually, it was Erin," Set corrected.  "X5-455.  Ashley has a family – I wouldn't have used her if it could have been avoided.  I'm not entirely heartless."

            "But Erin was killed that night at the meeting with McElroy," Max said quickly.  "It couldn't have been her."

            "As you may be aware, her body was never found," Set responded.  "The reason is that she was taken prisoner.  She was my target that night; you were actually perfectly safe the whole time.  Until Erin threw that grenade, anyway.  We captured her and held her until now, all the while using some of Manticore's old reprogramming techniques --"

            "You mean _brainwashing,_" Max interrupted.

            "Call it what you will," Set said with a dismissive wave.  "The long and short of it is that we replaced you with her.  The authorities will attempt to identify you through DNA and, of course, she'll be a match."

            "No she won't," Max replied.  "I have no junk DNA.  I'm not really an X5."

            "But nobody knows that," Set told her.  "The only two individual genetic work-ups of you were done by Manticore and the CDC.  Manticore's gone, and some of my people made sure any record of you was erased and replaced with identical information from your clones.  The same night we took Erin, we also blew up the CDC offices in Seattle to make sure their records were destroyed, too."

            "I didn't know."

            "Logan did an Eyes Only report about it and everything," Set replied.  "I remember it particularly well because he got on his soapbox and preached about how people shouldn't rush to judgment and blame transgenics every time something blew up.  Funny thing was, that time it _was_ our fault."

            "Yeah, that's real funny," Max muttered.  "So is this where I compliment your genius for pulling everybody's strings for so long?"

            "No, this is where you grieve for lost friends," Set muttered.  Max gazed at him, every second feeling the drugs wear off more.  She was finally feeling completely normal, and that only further motivated her in her attempts to free herself.

            "What do you mean?  Who?"

            "I'm sorry," Set told her.  "I truly am.  You see, Alec didn't make it."

            "Didn't make it?"  _No, this can't be happening._

            "He rushed you to the limousine," Set explained.  As he spoke, Max began to remember details she suspected part of her mind had deliberately tried to forget.  "He was wounded, and ended up slouching down against the vehicle.  When my people fired the rocket…  I'm sorry, Max.  For what it's worth, it was quick.  He didn't really feel much pain."

            "Alec…" Max muttered.  _No…  If only I hadn't let him stay by me.  If only I had kept on treating him like dirt…_

            "It wasn't really part of the plan, Max," Set explained.  "He was supposed to help guide your people, along with Joshua.  Now we're going to have to find someone to take his place… I honestly don't know if Joshua is up to doing all of this alone."

            "You're a dead man," Max growled.  "You know that?  I'm not gonna be in this chair forever.  Eventually I'll get loose, and I'm gonna tear you apart with my bare hands."

            "No you won't," Set countered.

            "Wanna bet?"

            "You have too many responsibilities," Set said.  "You might want to kill me, and you might be very capable of succeeding, but the fact of the matter is that I'm not another one of your sycophants, Max – I'm more than willing to kill you if I have to.  You have survived this long only because I feel you have one more role to play, one more crucial task to perform.  Besides, given your present situation, I don't think you'd be willing to take the chance of losing."

            "My present situation?"

            "I have to go run an errand," Set told her, making no attempt to hide the fact that he'd purposely dodged her question.  "Unfortunately, I won't be coming back.  The good news is that you're free to try to escape – I won't stop you.  The bad news is that if you fail to escape, you'll die of dehydration within a few days."

            "Son of a bitch…"

            "I trust that I haven't secured you _too_ well," Set commented as he grabbed a Colt 1911 off of a small coffee table and walked toward a rusted, steel door.  "Good luck, Max.  With everything.  I'm afraid this will be the last time we see each other."

            "Don't bet on it."

            "We both have our responsibilities, Max.  You have to run away and lay low, making certain no one ever figures out who you are," Set instructed.  "I have to keep an eye on the fire McElroy just lit.  I have to make certain it burns itself out before too much destruction is caused."

            "You do that," Max muttered.  Then another thought occurred to her, one that she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of sooner.  "What about Logan?"

            "Excuse me?"

            "What about Logan?" Max repeated.  "I'll make you a deal – I'll go away, I'll lay low, I'll never come looking for payback.  You just do what you can to get him off the hook, okay?  I've already lost Zack and Alec; I can't lose Logan, too."

            "You're hardly in a position to bargain," Set replied.  "And besides, you know all too well that I'm right, that you can best serve your people by disappearing.  You also know that Logan wouldn't want me to get him off the hook.  He must have explained that to you in his cell."

            "I don't care what he explained to me," Max answered, enjoying the slight sense of relief she felt in allowing herself a bit of selfish gratification.  "I want him out of custody, and I want it now."  Set glared at Max for several minutes, his cold eyes locked onto hers.  _His name couldn't be more appropriate,_ she decided.  _His eyes actually sorta look like a serpent's._

            "I'll do what I can," Set finally responded.  "But I'll make no promise other than that."

            "Good enough," Max muttered.

            "And just remember that I'm sorry," Set said, surprising Max with his attempt at apologizing.  "I know you'll probably never believe me, but I didn't want to do any of this.  If I had my druthers, if Lydecker had never tracked me down and convinced me to join up with him, I would have moved to Maine, bought a boat, and trapped lobster for the rest of my life."

            "_Trapped lobster?_" Max heard herself ask, surprised that any part of her mind had any interest in speaking to her captor.

            "It's a peaceful job I could have done _alone_, without the temptation to do the things I know I do best," Set explained.  "You may have noticed – I don't play well with others."  He didn't say another word as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.  Max listened for a lock, but heard none.  _He really expects me to just leave,_ she decided with amazement.  _I guess I should get to work._

_To be continued………………………………_


	19. A Promise Kept

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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XIX – A Promise Kept 

            Logan took a deep breath as the lead guard placed his hand on the doorknob, preparing to open the front door of the federal detention center so Logan could be transported to the courthouse.  It appeared as if all of the government's security precautions had been wasted – Logan could hear the enraged throng through the door, screaming for the briefest glimpse of Kilroy.  Some admired his courage and named him a hero and visionary; others called him a traitor, a criminal who needed to be put down as soon as his brief show-trial was complete.

            "Everyone get ready," the lead guard grumbled.  Logan felt four bodies press in more closely against him and heard the faint clicks of half-dozen safeties being taken off of the marshals' sidearms.  _This is it,_ Logan told himself.  _Time to face the music._

            The door was thrown open and blinding sunlight poured inside, causing Logan's vision to become momentarily hazy.  "Kill the bastard!" he heard a man yell from his right.

            "Be brave, Mr. Cale," a woman said reassuringly from his left, just as his eyes began to adjust to the light.  He looked at the woman and almost gasped when he recognized Syl.  She smiled at him, a forced smile that did little to banish the overwhelming despair in the transgenic's eyes.  Logan could already see tears starting to trickle down Syl's face.

            Then came the shock of having the wind knocked out of him.  A brief moment later he heard the thunderous report of a weapon, and screams erupted as he fell to the pavement.  "We will have vengeance on all who oppose us!" Logan heard a familiar voice cry out.  "Fe'nos tol!  Fe'nos tol!"  Several more gunshots rang out, and Logan's body shuddered as a heavy weight collapse across his legs.  _One of the marshals got shot,_ he realized.  _I wish that hadn't happened._

            He looked up again, hoping to see Syl, and smiled as he locked gazes with her again.  She was standing as still as a statue, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, completely oblivious to the chaos that had erupted around her.  As Logan lay there, he began to grow aware of a warm, wet feeling spreading across his chest.  _Gunshot wound,_ he decided, remembering how it had felt the last time he'd been shot.  _Doesn't really hurt as bad this time.  Maybe I'm starting to get used to it…_  That thought brought a smile to his face, and he noted that his apparent amusement darkened Syl's gaze.  Then she was swept away as a sea of blue uniforms descended upon him, forming a protective circle as one of the men began looking over him.

            "It's bad," one of the marshals reported as he ripped off the flack jacket and Logan's blood-soaked shirt.  _I wonder what kind of bullets he was using,_ Logan thought, noting that it was amazing the bullet had passed so easily through the vest.

            "We need a medic, now!" another voice called out.

            "Do--" Logan muttered, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

            "Settle down," the marshal said softly.  He grabbed Logan's hand, holding it reassuringly as he locked his warm, soothing stare onto Logan's.  _He's been in this situation before,_ Logan decided.  _He's had someone die in his arms before.  Poor kid . . . he can't be more than twenty years old._

            "We're losing him!" another voice called out.  Logan noticed how cold it was getting, and suddenly, something started to well up within him.  _I wasn't cold like this last time,_ he decided.  _It wasn't like this.  I'm dying . . . oh God, I'm dying._

            "Max…" he gasped, looking around for any sign of the X5.  His vision was getting blurry and breathing was growing into a struggle.  _She could be right above me and I wouldn't know,_ Logan decided, fighting to get his eyes to focus.

            "Settle down, Mr. Cale," the young marshal said to him.

            "Who--"

            "My name's Jack," the young man answered.  "I'll stay with you.  Don't worry."

            "Syl…"  Logan thought back on Syl's face, the misery that had been there when he was shot.  _Thanks for coming by,_ he thought, hoping that he could somehow telepathically project his gratitude to his bodyguard.  _Thanks for letting me see you again._  Logan's body trembled, and he heard Jack's voice cry out.

            "He's going into arrest," the young man reported.  "He's not breathing, either.  Where the hell are the medics?"  Logan felt his head leaned back, and he felt a mouth press up against his.  _Max?_ he wondered.  Two sharp breaths blew into his lungs, and he realized it was probably Jack's lips as he started CPR.  Logan's ribs contracted repeatedly under Jack's continued efforts, but he noted with sadness that the blur before his eyes was growing darker.

            _I don't want this,_ he reminded himself.  _Why did it have to be this way?_

            "Finally," Jack yelled, his voice starting to recede.  _Or am I receding?_ Logan wondered.  _He's probably right where he was just a minute ago.  I'm the only one who's going anywhere._

            "Oh hell," he heard a new voice call out.  "Charge to 200."  Logan felt something cold against his chest, and then the new voice called out, "Clear!"  A wave of warm light shot through Logan, momentarily banishing the cold darkness that was steadily enveloping him, promising never to leave.  "Get the atropine and charge to 300."  _Defibrillator,_ Logan realized.  _It isn't gonna work.  His aim's gotta be flawless from that range._  "Clear!"  Another flash of warmth and light, but this time it vanished far more quickly.

            _I'm so sorry, Max,_ Logan lamented silently.  _There's so much I wanted to say, so much advice I wish I could have given you.  I wish . . . I wish we had another chance.  Without Lydecker and his people tracking you down, without White and the Familiars trying to kill you, and without the paranoia of humanity demanding a martyr before they'll come to accept your people.  I wish…_

            "I'm still here," Logan heard Jack whisper into his ear.  In his mind, Jack's voice became Max's, and Logan allowed himself to relax, to take that leap of faith and let go of the cliff he'd been clinging to with every fiber of his being.

            "I'm still here," she assured him as he fell into whatever it was that waited for him.  "I'll always be here."

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            Sometimes it seems like it happened to someone else, like maybe it was a story I heard.  It's been an unimaginable three years, and for all I've seen and done, for all the friends I've made and lost along the way, my stay in Seattle is ending much the way it began – living on the run, always looking over my shoulder.

            Hope is for losers.  It's a con job people trip behind 'til they finally get a grip on the cold, hard truth.  Still, I hope that the few friends I have left will be okay without me here to watch out for them.  Original Cindy, Sketchy, Joshua . . . and I guess even Normal, too.  They're really all that's left of the ones I love, at least for the time being.  That'll change soon enough, though.

            So here I am at the top of the Space Needle, looking down on Seattle the way I've done so many damn times in the past.  This time, though, I guess it's good-bye.

_To be continued………………………………_

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**Author's Endnote:** This chapter was originally intended to be part of the previous chapter, but as you may have noticed, Chapter 18 was rather long.  My solution: break off the end of that chapter and put it here.  This also has the added benefit of placing Logan center-stage in this chapter.  I think he deserved the limelight a bit.  Hope it didn't seem too choppy this way.


	20. Epilogue

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).

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Epilogue 

            Dana looked up wearily, setting her eyes on the two Secret Service agents that hovered over her, their burly frames all but completely blocking her view of the slender young man that stood behind them.  "Can I help you?" she asked, feeling a lump form in her throat.  She had always felt she had very good instincts, and something about this situation seemed dangerous.  She couldn't think of any other word that really fit.

            "Visitor," one of the agents muttered.  Dana thought his name was Richard, but she wasn't completely certain.  _Not that it really matters,_ she decided.  _The boss never keeps any of his bodyguards around for too long.  He doesn't trust them enough to let them get comfortable._

            "There isn't anyone on the schedule," Dana answered without even looking at her calendar.  She had her boss's itinerary for the next six weeks completely memorized.

            "This one isn't on the schedule," the same agent replied.  "I'm going to make sure it's okay."  He walked past Dana, not bothering to wait for her permission.  Once he had gone, the young man behind the agents came into greater focus.  Once Dana saw more of his face, she realized that he was probably a little older than she had originally thought.  _Probably about twenty-five,_ she decided, giving him a thorough once-over.  _And he's got a nice butt,_ she decided as he turned in front of her, seeming to take in every bit of his surroundings.

            Dana almost gasped as her gaze glided from his posterior up past his thin waist and athletically built shoulders.  _He doesn't have a barcode! she realized.  Her mind did a double take, and she found herself staring at the base of his skull, searching for the mark that she couldn't imagine wasn't there.  She quickly shifted her gaze down to the back of his right hand, just to be sure, and once more noticed the conspicuous lack of a genetic tag.  _How could he not have a barcode?__

            Ever since 2126, when the UN passed Resolution 81/599, the so-called 'Registration Resolution,' every human in the world had been given a thorough genetic analysis and then branded with a barcode.  It was the one and only way that humanity had been able to purge itself of the Familiars, the breeding cult that had declared its own private war against the rest of the species.  _And somehow, years and years later, this guy is lacking a tattoo.  Could he be a Familiar?  Could they still exist?_

            She thought it unlikely.  The tattoo, genetically engineered to each individual, had become indispensable since its introduction.  It was the one and only form of identification anyone ever needed, and unlike the cards and papers that had once served such a purpose, the tattoo could never be lost, stolen, or altered.  Worldwide computerized registries kept track of every individual.  The tattoo even served the purpose of currency, much as credit- and debit-cards had for the decades before the tattoos' introduction.  And more importantly – most importantly – the tattoos had allowed humanity, the ordinaries and their transgenic allies, to identify and destroy their Familiar enemies.

            _He doesn't look like I think a Familiar would look, Dana decided as the young man continued to turn, eventually facing her and locking his gaze onto hers.  A small, warm smile spread across his lips, and Dana couldn't help but return the expression.  She felt drawn to him, as if she could immediately trust him.  She was swept away in his eyes, only to be returned to the cold, dark surroundings of her office by the disrupting sound of the office door opening behind her.  The agent had returned._

            "He'll see you now," he said.  The young man only nodded.  He stepped toward the door, and both agents let him go, neither one seeming at all interested in him as a threat.  He walked inside the office and Dana's years of experience as a secretary took over.  She was immediately picking the agents' brains for any piece of information that would be interesting for the next morning's water-cooler discussion.

            "Who was that?" she asked.  "He didn't have a tattoo, did he?"

            "No, he didn't," the agent she was sure was named Richard answered.

            "Was he…"

            "A Familiar?" he finished for her.  Dana nodded.  "I don't know," he admitted, "but the old man assured me he isn't.  He said he's been expecting him, that they have old business to settle."

            "What does that mean?  That doesn't make sense."

            "How much of what the old man says or does makes sense?" the agent countered.  "We were simply told to wait out here and not interfere, no matter what we hear from inside."

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            Once he'd crossed into the office, the young man closed the door softly behind him and took in his surroundings.  The room he was standing in had been designed to be psychologically imposing, to impress and intimidate any visiting head of state.  In effect, it was a throne room for the twentieth century and beyond.  The interior design drew his eyes toward the man seated comfortably behind a large, mahogany desk, his wise, world-weary gaze staring back from behind a bestial visage.  His hair was still long, wild… but now fine and graying.  The once-massive shoulders and chest had withered to smaller proportions, though he still boasted a larger frame than most men half his age.

            "So you're Joshua," the young man concluded.  "I was led to believe you'd be bigger."

            "That's President Joshua," the old transgenic corrected.  "You're in my office – the Oval Office – and I expect you to show at least a modicum of respect, genuine or not."

            "Of course," the young man said smoothly, taking a seat in front of the desk and leaning back to make himself comfortable.  If he was at all intimidated by the surroundings or the company, he didn't show it.

            "How's your mother?" Joshua asked.

            "She's well," the young man answered, "though she's rather displeased with what you've done."

            "I know," Joshua said, suddenly directing his eyes down toward the floor.  The young man could see that the president – the most powerful man in the world – was ashamed.  He could only guess at the relationship this man and his mother had once had, the high regard in which he held her.  "But it had to be done.  It was written… it was prophesied."

            "And so was this," the young man added.  "You've been in office for three and a half years, Joshua.  Your time is past.  It's time for the people to take back their world."

            "Three and a half years?" Joshua asked, a small, tired chuckle escaping him as he mused over the time.  "It didn't seem like it was that long."

            "I know," the young man said apologetically.  "I'm sorry."

            "Set told me this would be the toughest part," Joshua muttered, "but I never believed him.  I thought I'd be able to face it.  I always felt that as long as my enemies were defeated, I would be able to accept any fate that the universe planned for me.  And so the Beast is to be destroyed."

            "Cast down," the young man added.  "Your people faced Armageddon, they became and opposed the Four Horsemen, and the dragon eventually took the world and then gave his power to the Beast.  The cycle's at an end.  There's no longer any place for you."

            "Were you any other person I would kill you for saying that."

            "I know," the man admitted, "but I'm _not_ any other person.  I'm my mother's son, the son of the woman chased into the wilderness."

            "And you've returned to slay the Beast," Joshua finished for him.  "I know it all already."

            "It'll be quick," the man assured him.

            "I know," Joshua said with a smile that spoke of his forgiveness of the violence about to be committed.  He slowly opened his top desk drawer, producing a piece of paper and a pistol with an attached silencer.  "Your pardon," he muttered, indicating the paper.  "Everything's signed and official.  The Attorney General is waiting in the next room," he added, gesturing to a different door than the one through which his guest had entered.

            "A PPK?" the young man asked as he gripped the pistol.

            "Give it to your mother after you leave," Joshua told him.  "Tell her it was Alec's – it's something to remember him by."  Joshua leaned back, defiantly puffing out his chest.  "And please tell your mother I missed her."

            "I will," the young man assured the president.

            "Goodbye, Logan."  The only response was three low coughs, the muffled shots that completed prophecy.

Fin

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**Author's Endnote:** What are you waiting for?  It's done – **_now review_**!   :)

Well, it's been quite an experience writing this series.  First, it was only going to be a single story, but it soon grew into two.  Then three.  I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's read this, and especially the two readers that kept up and reviewed away pretty much throughout this entire story – **Black Rose** (who started out as **ME**, then turned into **Black Rose** for a few days there, then was **ME** again, then **Black Rose** again…) and **Moonbeam**.  **Dark Phanton**, **FireHand**, and **Toothpicksfromhell** also gave lots of feedback, so 'thank you' to them, too.  If anyone has anything to add that wasn't really suited to the review page, feel free to email me at obinorm@netscape.net.


	21. Retrospective

Well, the series is done now.  As fanfiction.net gives the opportunity for readers to open a dialogue with the writers, I decided I would take a few minutes to write some notes/comments on what went through my head as I wrote this series.  I hope this gives some insight as to what I was trying to do, so that readers will know what I did and didn't succeed in as I wrote.

Foreshadowing

This was probably the toughest element for me to work with.  The obvious reason is that it's sometimes hard to drop hints as to what's coming without giving away surprises.  What I was shooting for was a reaction along the lines of, _Oh, how did I not see that coming?  In hindsight, it's **so** obvious._  There were several plot points I addressed with a little foreshadowing:

**Logan's Death.**  At several points I had him reflect on what he knew was coming, and how much he wanted to avoid it.  One of the biggest hints was actually in a chapter title – _Reporting Live From Gethsemane_.  For those that don't understand the reference, the Garden of Gethsemane is where Jesus went to pray before being arrested and executed.  In Christianity, it's one of the defining moments of Jesus' life, because his mortality made him ask that he be spared from his fate.  But he stayed and faced the music, just like Logan did.  I always saw Logan as being extremely strong emotionally (a character trait offset by his physical handicap).  So for me, it wasn't enough to martyr him, to let him die for the cause.  To do the character (and his strength of will) justice, he had to know what was coming and accept it.

**Syl taking over as Eyes Only.**  In the last chapter of _Season Change_, Logan muses that Syl would make a good journalist in her own right.  He also goes about introducing her to his contacts, which was a necessary precursor to her taking over as Eyes Only.

**Max having Logan's child.**  The only real clue that that was coming was Set sniffing Max when she showed up to visit Logan.  She was in heat, and Set could smell it.  It's why he asked her if she could handle being in there alone with him.

**Basically the whole plotline of _Dreams Torn Asunder_.**  The title of the last chapter of _Season's Change_ was 'The Horsemen Cometh.'  I think everyone got that I was using the Bible's Book of Revelation as a rough framework for my story.  (There was even a review that mentioned that fact.)  The reason for that is that just about everyone is familiar with many of the facets of that doomsday prediction.  (I could have tried something else, like maybe the prophecies of Nostradamus, but not only are his quatrains so vague as to be unusable, but the mythology I developed for the Familiars demanded a strong connection to the traditional Mediterranean apocalypse stories.)  Everyone's heard about the four horsemen – War (Zack), Pestilence (Lillith), Famine (Logan, in a real stretch applying that name to his character), and Death (Alec).  (And as a side note, if anyone knows the source of Pestilence, please email me.  Pestilence is always spoken of as one of the four horsemen, but in Revelation, the horsemen actually appear to be the anti-Christ, War, Famine, and Death.  Pestilence is absent, and I'd love to know where that one came from.)  Everyone's heard about Armageddon (though they don't always know the source of the name, as I explained in _Unnatural Selection_).  Some of the more obscure characters in general knowledge (though they're prominent in Revelation) are the dragon (that's Set, whose name is the same as the Egyptian god Set, a serpent), the Beast (Joshua, in a rather literal turn), and the woman who fled into the wilderness (Max, who was forced into exile).  Most people have also heard about the mark of the Beast.  That was the barcode, which Joshua had tattooed at the beginning of _Dreams_.  Revelation uses the mark of the Beast as a means of buying and selling and stuff, which I used literally.  I also added in the detail of having the barcodes be a method of destroying the enemies of the Beast – the Familiars.  So I followed Revelation as a rough outline, with some massive liberties taken at some points.

**Faking Max's death.**  I think Set's conversation with Max pretty much laid out the hints I'd dropped.  (And of course, to have seen all of them, you'd have had to read _Three Hail Mary's_.)

Character Pairings

This was a tricky story element.  Apparently (though I was oblivious to it), during the course of my writing this series, there was/still is a shipper war between those favoring Max/Logan and Max/Alec.  Thank God my storyline was firmly in the shipper neutral stage at that point.  I think my author's notes might also have helped deter some people from annoying, pointless flames.  I'm a big fan of Unresolved Sexual Tension.  Though he never said it, Alec had a bit of a thing for Max.  (Then again, as I wrote him, Alec had a bit of a thing for **every** attractive female.)  Max didn't have a thing for him.  That creates a bit of friction, and therefore a bit of drama.  To me, that's more interesting to write than a dozen chapters of sap about how Max and Alec are happy being together, shagging like minks.  The same thing goes for Max/Logan.

**So why Max/Logan?**  Well, as I neared the end of _Unnatural Selection_, I was actually planning on making this Max/Alec.  (I even dropped a few hints that that was a possibility, as Alec is all kinds of regretful when Max 'dies' near the end of _Unnatural Selection_.)  Then, as I went into _Seasons Change_, I realized that I would really be doing myself an injustice if I allowed those two to go there.  First off, I would lose the playful, sibling-fueled banter between the two of them, and that had always given me an opportunity to inject some much-needed levity.  (Until Alec went postal, anyway.)  Also, developing a romance (properly) would have necessarily taken attention away from the overriding story arc, and that's not what I wanted.  (Of course, I could have just had them start boinking for absolutely no apparent reason, but plenty of authors have already done that, and I have this crazy thing about trying to be original…)  Most of all, though, when it came time to get the two of them together, I was surprised to find that neither of them really wanted it.  Max was too busy being a messiah, and Alec was too busy developing his own agenda (essentially doing all the evil things messiahs need done, but can't do themselves).  As compatible as they may or may not have been, neither one had any interest in pursuing it at that time.  Timing isn't always right in real life, and I see no reason why my fics shouldn't be the same.

In the end, it seemed right that Logan and Max should get together.  Cameron/Eglee had them dance around each other for two seasons.  I had them continue through most of a speculative third.  I knew I was going to wipe out most of the cast at the end (see my bio – I don't believe in happy endings), so the romantic in me demanded some kind of reward for three years of pining.  The series started out with Max and Logan being the central relationship, and far be it from me to second-guess Mr. Cameron's ideas.  However, as I wrote above, I don't do happy endings.  So sure, the sexual tension gets resolved, but I fake the death of one character and actually kill off the other within a few chapters of their blissful resolution.  That's what they get for hooking up in one of Nevermore's stories.  :)

**Why Logan/Syl?**  I think I answered that one well enough throughout the course of the story.  In addition, from a writer's perspective, I also loved the opportunity to add in more conflict and guilt.  There just wasn't enough of that before Logan had a fling with a woman who could be considered his true love's sister, while all the while grooming her to replace him as the voice of truth, justice, and the American way after he gives his life to advance those ideals.

Character Death

Character death is never something to be taken lightly.  I gave a lot of thought to each character's death, and due to the affection many readers have for some characters I figure I should give at least a short explanation of what I was thinking.

**Why did Alec have to die?**  Alec had become a rather evil bastard by the end of the series.  Had the story been longer, I was toying with the idea of maybe fully developing some kind of psychosis similar to Ben's.  (I really liked the idea of putting my psych degree to some kind of use.)  He'd murdered at least two people in cold blood, and there were others off-screen that we never heard about, too.  (And that's not even mentioning his little side adventure in _Three Hail Mary's_.)  Joshua knew what Alec had done, and was about to tell Max.  If Alec had run, it would have only made his crimes worse.  Dying the way he did allowed him to 'save' Max one last time, and then die without her ever knowing about his betrayals (since Joshua never had the heart to tell her once Alec was dead and the point was moot).  Dying when he did made it possible for Max to remember Alec the way she thought he was, and not the way he really was.

The funny thing was that I was originally going to have Joshua kill Alec for what he'd done to Zack, but I decided against that idea.  Joshua really didn't want to do it, and Alec was certain that there was a more meaningful end out there for him.  (I spend lots of time 'talking' to the characters, so to speak.  I'm sure other writers understand…)  His character benefited from the eventual outcome, though, I think.  Anyone else have any thoughts on that topic?  (Not flames – _thoughts_.)

**Why did Zack have to die?**  Well, as I wrote in my A/N to start _Seasons Change_, Zack was originally slated to die at the end of _Unnatural Selection_.  He escaped the axe then, but I knew his days were numbered.  He was single-minded in his pursuit of freedom and security for his people, and powerful men with obsessions like that get themselves (and all too often, many of their followers) killed.  The only question was how it would happen.  My second plan for him was to be arrested and defiantly go to the gallows, willingly paying the price for his crusade.  Then I was writing an Alec chapter and realized there was no way in hell Alec (a.k.a. Death) would allow that.  He would give Zack the satisfaction of martyring himself for his cause, without the humiliation of being executed by the same bureaucrats he hated.

**Why did Logan have to die?**  For very much the same reasons Zack had to die.  He'd pushed too far, and in post-Pulse America I figure terrorism was almost certainly a capital offense.  Logan knew the repercussions of his actions, and he went into it knowing he'd end up dead.  As I wrote above, I thought it important that Logan not only die, but willingly construct a situation where he could give his life for Max's cause.  It means more that way.

Unresolved Story Threads

**Who dropped the nukes in the Middle East?**  That was Set.  I implied that, but never said so explicitly because while his actions and schemes had far-reaching effects, Set himself was a minor character and didn't merit much direct attention in the text.  (Besides, he wouldn't really have been directing the action from behind the scenes if I kept including him in every scene.)  At the end of _Seasons Change_, he bought several hydrogen bombs.  Then he went and recruited one of Zack's pilots (who'd been mentioned in Chapter 10 of that story).  In Revelation, the Dragon hurls the stars down from the sky or something like that.  I interpreted that as the dropping of nuclear warheads, which I feel is a rather reasonable interpretation.  Though in Revelation it seemed like the Dragon was only seeking destruction, it was never explicitly stated that there wasn't a practical reason for scorching the Earth.  I took advantage of the ambiguity.

**Who killed Logan?**  Once again, this was Set.  He truly considered Logan a friend, and figured killing him was one of the greatest services he could offer.  (And couldn't we all us friends like that? :) )  Set had grown up behind concrete walls, and he hated it.  To him, it was a fate worse than death.  He would never allow Logan to suffer that way.  He also knew all along that Logan was planning on dying for the cause, and Set felt compelled to keep the promise he made to Logan in Chapter 8.  (Oh, and btw, I know Chapter 8 doesn't have a title.  I couldn't think of anything that would really capture the mood of the chapter, so I just numbered it.)

**How did Set manage to get Max out of the limo? ** Now this was something I would have loved to have Set explain, but it wasn't really possible.  For obvious reasons, Set didn't ever want to see Max again after that one conversation in the basement, so anything that needed to be said was said there.  Between telling her about Alec, and explaining his role with McElroy, and giving all that exposition about Lydecker's beliefs and the role of Revelation in the story, the conversation was rather dense.  In fact, I almost took out all the Revelation stuff because it seemed like all that text sorta held up the dramatic development of the story.  Ideally, had this been an actual episode, when Max remembered Erin shooting her with a tranquilizer, we would have had one of those quick flashback shots with Erin opening the false bottom of the limo and passing Max down to Bucephalus (or someone else) waiting by an open manhole.  That way Max was removed from the vehicle in that bit of a pause between Max getting in and the RPG being shot.  It wasn't long, but one of the reasons for switching to Joshua's point of view was to show that there _was_ a bit of time there.  Set's people took advantage of every second.  It sucked having to leave that bit out, but like I wrote above, I didn't feel I had time to include everything.  So my solution was to cover only the things that Max would have felt were most important.  She knew she made it out of the limo somehow, and I didn't feel she'd think the details important enough to inquire about.  She _really_ would have wanted to know about the other stuff, though.

**Did McElroy get elected president?**  Well, with a name like McElroy, you gotta figure he's Irish.  Nothing bad ever happens to Irish characters in my stories (except for Rory… but that's a different series), so _of course_ McElroy won.

**Was the guy (Logan) that killed Joshua Max and Logan's son?**  Yes.

**What ever became of Max?**  Dunno.  Wanna write a story?

**What ever became of Set?**  He eventually becomes president, with Joshua as his vice-president.  Revelation states that the Dragon cedes his power to the Beast.  So that means that Set would have resigned or was assassinated.  My guess is that he arranged to have Bucephalus kill him.

**Is there gonna be a sequel?  **Not a chance in hell.  I think I'm probably done with this fandom – I've said all I have to say about these characters.

Easter Egg Hunt

I like to put in little tidbits here and there, all of them meant to be mini-homages or just inside jokes/references.  I figured I'd share a few…

-- Several of my chapter titles are inspired by or directly taken from _Babylon 5_ episode titles.  I think that was possibly the best written show ever (_Twin Peaks_, _Buffy_, and _Angel_ at their bests are comparable), and I like to include a little piece of that show in my stuff.  Since it would be hard to throw a Vorlon into the _Dark Angel_ universe, I settled for titles.  Well, that and the name for the Special Forces units the transgenics joined – the Black Omegas.

-- The UN Registration Resolution was 81/599.  The 81 refers to the year in which it was passed (the 81st year of the UN's existence), and the 599 is Zack's Manticore number.

-- The first sentence of Max's closing thoughts atop the Space Needle is the same sentence used when we first see her atop the Space Needle in the series pilot, and in the first season close with Logan in the same place.

-- I've always wanted to have a character named Bucephalus – the name of Alexander the Great's horse.  As you can imagine, that's a difficult thing to work in seamlessly.  I think I finally succeeded here, though.  (Also, though it's rather irrelevant, Tiamet was the name of the Babylonian goddess of chaos and destruction, not totally unlike Greece's titans, from my understanding.  She was originally gonna play a larger role, but in the interest of time, I wrote her out.)

-- Twice I show Logan reading books by George R. R. Martin.  (First, _A Game of Thrones_, and then _A Storm of Swords_.)  Not only do I consider this the finest fantasy series I've ever read (and I therefore recommend it _very_ highly) but, as one reader who emailed me commented, it's a sign that all bets are off as far as plot developments and character survival rates go.

-- Some of the passages in the McElroy and Ashton speeches were taken directly from past American presidential addresses, primarily FDR and the current George W. Bush.

-- I renamed Max's first clone (Sam) to Ashley, after Ashley Scott.  I'd read a bunch of irrational Asha-bashing fics, so I decided maybe a nod to that character was in order.

Thanks again to everyone that gave feedback at any point during the series.  I'm really proud of this trilogy, and I hope everyone who reads it can find some level of enjoyment in it.


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